


A Delicate Balance

by evergreen_on_the_horizon



Series: A Delicate Balance [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Awkward Romance, Clubbing, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Engagement, Eventual Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I fell into this plot hole and it swallowed me whole, Idiots in Love, Katara can't decide what she wants, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Sokka/Suki, One True Pairing, One-sided Aang/Katara (Avatar), Past Jet/Katara (Avatar), Past Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sexual Tension, So does Iroh, Sokka and Suki are a gross couple and I love them, Suki Ty Lee and Toph like to place bets, Ursa ships it, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko is basically Bruce Wayne in this AU, oh also this is an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_on_the_horizon/pseuds/evergreen_on_the_horizon
Summary: Katara is a person of layers and complexity as much as Zuko is, but something about the way he casts his golden eyes at her often makes her feel like he can peel her defenses back and see right to the center of her soul. Exchanging one glance with him can induce her to feel utterly bare and startlingly seen—for everything that she is.There are some things Katara doesn’t talk to Zuko about. The way she feels when he looks at her is one of them.--Or, the twenty-four hours that change the dynamics of a relationship.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: A Delicate Balance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191008
Comments: 72
Kudos: 384





	1. This Is Right Where It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently discovered [this](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6pioVQNVaEDVGD2vEGYwhG?si=DrMXSdLnSf-awMRiWIMD5Q) delightful Zutara playlist on Spotify. It inspired a story about the events that catapult long time friends Zuko and Katara into a relationship. This is a departure in terms of content and tone from my other in-progress Zutara AU. Please take note that there will be mild sexual content. And lots of Awkward!Zuko.

The pulse of the Caldera City club thrums through Katara’s body, bass lines singing in her blood and breathing life into her lungs. Hands in her hair, sweat slicking her spine, she smiles into this moment of divinity with her eyes closed. She can feel the hands of the good-looking stranger who’d asked her for a dance on her waist, his palms splayed across her hipbones, thumbs brushing the exposed strip of her stomach between her skirt and her white crop top.

Tonight is Suki’s night of celebration, but her glow extends to the girls with her and Katara can _feel_ the grace bestowed upon her soul from the tips of her toes tucked into her sensible wedges all the way up through her fingertips which reach for the ceiling. When she opens her eyes, the room seems to gyrate before her, the thrash of two hundred strangers in the throes of devotion to the DJ. Suki and some of the other girls are clumped together a short distance away, Katara’s someday-soon-sister-in-law at the center of them all, a smile stretched wide across her pretty face as she dances.

Ty Lee bobs and weaves her way through the crush of dancers, snagging one of Katara’s hands out of the air and thrusting a clear cup of water into the other. She pulls Katara away from the stranger and back towards the cluster of girls.

“Five minutes until boys!” she yells into Katara’s ear.

Katara nods and shoots an apologetic glance over her shoulder. His amber eyes are framed by dark eyebrows that raise in amusement before he shrugs and disappears from the dance floor. She wishes she could say that she’s sorry she didn’t get his name or his number, but she isn’t. She should be disappointed at the missed connection, but tonight her heart is full of an intense happiness that threatens to well up in her eyes when Suki pulls her in for a sloppy, one-armed hug. Her other hand holds a frightfully colored drink that she deftly angles away from Katara’s ill-advised white shirt. Overcome, Katara presses a kiss to her oldest friend’s cheek.

“I’m so happy for you!” she shouts.

Suki rolls her eyes and laughs. “He’s an idiot!”

“Still time to turn back.”

Suki’s grin widens, her starry eyes crinkle. “Never!” The pendant on the green ribbon around her neck shimmers in the pulsating lights of the club, opalescent and taunting anyone with an interested eye.

One song bleeds into another and Ty Lee flings her arm across Katara’s shoulders, bellowing the lyrics with the utterly charming inaccuracy that only Ty Lee can have. The brunette takes a sip of her water and asks, “How many drinks?” The keys to Ty Lee’s car weigh heavily in her own small clutch.

Ty Lee rounds her fingers out into an ‘O,’ her hot pink fingernails turning purple for a moment under the changing lights. Katara raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Cross my heart,” Ty Lee says, drawing an ‘X’ over the left side of her chest. “I thought I’d be your backup tonight in case you’d like to get the name of tall, dark, and handsome.”

Katara laughs. “Not tonight, Ty Lee.”

“Are you sure?”

“Tonight isn’t about me,” Katara replies.

Ty Lee holds out a hand, palm up, fingers wiggling. “Keys?” she asks.

Hesitating before she unzips the tiny bag, Katara says, “Are _you_ sure?”

Ty Lee’s responding smile is beatific. “Like you said,” she says, nodding towards Suki. “It’s not my night.”

Katara knows that Ty Lee is a woman of her word and drops the car key into her friend’s hand, pulling a face when she watches Ty Lee tuck the key into her bra without another thought. She wonders how many times she’s been the D.D. and unwittingly taken Ty Lee’s car keys which, as she now knows, are inevitably covered in boob sweat.

_Gross_.

There is a loud whoop that hardly rises above the din of the club as Sokka swoops into the scene, wrapping his arms around Suki’s shoulders from behind and pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. He is shadowed by a phalanx of his fellow men. Katara recognizes Haru’s obnoxiously thin mustache and Aang’s guileless eyes which are already focused on her ( _always_ on _her_ ).

“Where’s Zuko?” Ty Lee asks.

_A good question._

Sokka blows a raspberry and rolls his eyes in response. His ear piercing is caught in Suki’s hair. Neither of them notice.

“He said he wasn’t ready to come in yet,” Sokka pouts. “He’s such a damn _introvert_.” His complaint is good-natured and riddled with affection.

Katara exchanges a glance with Ty Lee that says, _It’s either you or me._

“I’ll take him,” Katara says in Ty Lee’s ear.

“Are you sure?” Ty Lee asks. “Your brother and Suki—”

“Will understand,” Katara says. “Two more drinks each and they’ll both forget we’re all here.”

She already celebrated with the happy couple over a family lunch earlier today. If if weren’t so loud she’d reiterate to Ty Lee that tonight is not about her and that it’s intrinsic to the evening that she avoid the person that will try to make it all about her. And him. And them.

Not that they are a _them_ to make anything out of.

She is apparently the only one out of the two of them that sees it that way.

Ty Lee laughs. “It may not even take that long.” She steals a wistful glance at the couple, her bottom lip poking out in a pout. “They’re so _in love_.”

Katara nudges Ty Lee in the ribs with her elbow. “You’ll find your person, Ty.” The other girl’s eyes flick over to Haru and his questionable mustache. “ _Not_ Haru,” she says. “ _Trust_ me. The ‘stache tells you everything you need to know about that.”

She begins to shoulder her way toward the doors of the club, pulling her phone from her clutch which, now that Ty Lee’s car keys are stashed in her bra for the remainder of the evening, is empty save for her plum-colored lipstick and credit card. She thinks she catches a glimpse of her last dance partner, but is granted no time to consider a pitstop on her way outside because her name is being called insistently and there is no mistaking the voice. She pulls up short and girds her courage, praying that this comes out nicer than it wants to.

“Aang,” she says, turning around with a terse smile.

His _whole head_ flushes bright red as he grins at her, bashfully rubbing his hand over the dark peach fuzz on his scalp. Even his ears are maroon at their tips. When they were kids, she thought he’d grow into them, but he hasn’t. They’re still a little too large and stick out just a smidge too much. He’s a head taller than almost everyone else they know now, but he still has a baby face. Hope is bright in his gray eyes.

_Fuck_.

“You look beautiful,” he shouts over the music.

Katara groans and knows he doesn’t hear it. “Thanks,” she says flatly, half-turning toward her exit. How many times have they had this conversation over the years? Three? Five? She’s lost count. It took her a while to learn that _I’m confused_ or _Not right now_ will never be deterrents for Aang. He just doesn’t _do_ subtle.

“I was hoping we could—”

She throws out a hand to stop him. The glittery silver polish that Ty Lee lacquered on her nails earlier today winks in the flashing lights of the club. “No,” she says. “Stop it, Aang.”

His mouth clamps shut. His eyes widen with hurt.

Oh, _La_ , it’s like kicking a polar dog puppy.

“I’m flattered,” she says. “Really. But, Aang…” The words stick in the back of her throat for a moment. She _knows_ what’s going to follow this and it’s so difficult to want to deal with it right now. Tonight is supposed to be a _good night_.

And it’s that reminder that allows her to finally spit out the words she should have said when Aang first started this so many years ago.

“I’m just not interested.”

She has to remind herself not to tack a half-hearted apology onto the end of it. _It’s not your fault if you aren’t interested in someone_ , Ty Lee had once said. _Never apologize for how you feel_ , Suki had told her repeatedly.

Aang’s mouth drops open and, really, it would be almost comical if she didn’t know that she’s just crushed his heart in public. She thinks she sees his eyes start to well up (oh, _shit_ , she’s made him cry in a _club_ ), but then he blinks a few times in rapid succession and scrubs a hand under his nose.

“Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_. I guess… I guess I misread things. Somehow.”

Katara fights back the urge to roll her eyes in frustration. _No way_ is he pinning this on her. “You’ll be fine, Aang,” she says. Then she takes the opening and walks away.

* * *

Zuko is leaning against his rain-flecked car when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores the text notification and tilts his head back to breathe in the smell of wet pavement that lingers in the wake of the latest monsoon. Uncle would be appalled to see that Zuko had taken the car, Iroh’s college graduation gift to him, out in this weather. Under normal circumstances, Zuko wouldn’t have. It is an unnecessarily fancy mode of transportation, a sports car that Zuko had tried his best to refuse, but ultimately accepted because Uncle had just been so excited to reward him for _hard work completed and wisdom earned._ His bearded face had been so full of pride that Zuko had been unable to tell his surrogate father no for long.

Tonight doesn’t fall in the category of normal circumstances. It isn’t every day your best friend finds himself engaged to a woman wildly out of his league, after all. Zuko figured that a ride in a nice car was the least he could do for Sokka. Volunteering to be the Water Tribesman’s ride from bar to bar was all the easier to do when Sokka told him they’d end the night by meeting up with the girls. _The girls_ inevitably meant Katara. And _Katara_ inevitably meant Zuko would have to deal with that which he had been attempting to avoid for several months now.

A sudden and violently intense realization that he wants a relationship with her.

It’s the whole reason why he volunteered not to drink tonight and why he’s currently hiding out here by his car instead of celebrating with the happy couple.

He’s done a lot of thinking on the subject and knows that he can’t pinpoint when it started. He just knows that he woke up on his couch late one Saturday morning to find her wearing a pair of his sweats and one of his T-shirts. Makeup was smeared all around her eyes. Her left hand was digging deep into a bowl of chips, she was definitely scratching a boob with her right, and he’d looked at her, eyes groggy with sleep, drool crusted on his good cheek, and thought to himself, _Oh, fuck. I want to date her_.

He’d been aware of his irrefutable attraction to her for years. And it wasn’t like it was a rare occurrence for him to wake up with her watching TV and snacking on his couch. Zuko was used to Katara sleeping over at his place after a night out. They weren’t hooking up or anything, but Sokka and Suki definitely were. All over the apartment she shared with Suki, it seemed. She’d tried persuading them to stay at Sokka’s place, but he was roommates with both Aang and Haru who never really went anywhere, and Katara was so busy with grad school that it just seemed easier to displace her.

Katara took it all in stride. _Sokka will never land someone better than Suki_ , she’d told Zuko. _And I’m so happy for them. Even if they’re gross_.

Zuko had offered her a place to stay one Friday night after hearing her complain about walking in on her brother and best friend in the kitchen. He’d let her take the bed, pulled a blanket and spare pillow out of the linen closet for himself, and made up the couch. He’d known her as long as he’d known Sokka, and there were very few secrets between them. Hell, he’d been there when she’d gotten her first period and had found himself in line at the drugstore, fifteen years old and buying her supplies that both baffled and scared him. So it wasn’t a big deal to offer her a place to go.

Until he woke up one morning, watched her shove a cluster of chips in her mouth while scratching her chest, and realized that he wouldn’t mind if every morning was like that.

So this is where Zuko finds himself:

Hiding next to his car at two in the morning in the lot of the building behind a club he is probably too old to acceptably patron, stone cold sober because he’d been too afraid of getting drunk and making an ass of himself in front of Katara.

His phone begins to vibrate repeatedly and he pulls it out of his pocket, only to find that the woman in question is calling him, her name and photo filling the screen.

_Fuck._

Raking his free hand through his hair, Zuko answers with the other. “Hello?” His voice cracks on the word and he has to clear his throat.

“Zuko,” she says without preamble.

“Katara.”

“No! Not that one!” Her voice takes on a faraway quality.

“Katara?”

“Yes! That one.” This is followed by an immense amount of rustling so loud that he has to pull the phone away from his ear until he hears, “Zuko?” Her voice is loud and breathy and, _Agni_ , he both does and doesn’t want to hear her say it that way again.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I had to get my jacket. Where are you?”

“Lot behind the club.” He hears the music and chatter in the club cut off and turns towards it, knowing that she’ll show up any moment.

“Parking illegally again?” There is a smile in her voice and he grins back.

“Is it technically parking if I’m standing next to my car?”

He hears her laugh both over the phone and not, and then she appears around the side of the building and his heart squeezes in his chest before it begins what he can only term a _gallop_. She waves and then hangs up the call as she walks over. Zuko curses Agni’s name and raises a hand to rub anxiously at the back of his neck. Katara is all voluminous curls and big blue eyes and long, long legs that vanish into a leather mini skirt, and he just _knows_ , sober or not, he’s bound to make a fool of himself.

“Hi,” she says with a smile and then pulls him in for a hug. The zippers on her powder blue motorcycle jacket jingle in his ears and he accidentally finds one of his palms resting on the bare skin of her back when he returns the hug.

“Hi.” He gets a mouthful of her hair when he speaks.

Katara pulls away and stands next to him, leaning against his car, her shoulder pressed to his bicep. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she tucks her hand into her jacket pockets.

“You didn’t come in with the others,” she says. “Are you done socializing for the evening?”

He _isn’t_. He could easily go join the party and stay out for a couple more hours, but his hands are sweating and he’s worried that being around Sokka and Suki in all their newly engaged glory will compound what he feels for Katara. Sokka’s _sister_. It’s one thing to embarrass himself in front of her; she’ll write it off. If he slips up in front of a crowd of their friends, none of them will ever let him live it down.

So Zuko shrugs. “I guess I am.”

“Okay.” She casts a soft smile up at him. Her lips are slicked over with a dark, purply lipstick, setting off the whiteness of her perfect teeth. “Do you have enough charge left in that introvert battery for me? If not, I’ll head back inside.”

Zuko’s stomach flips before bursting into a cascade of nerves. He slings his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his fingers tremble. _Agni_. How many times has he been near Katara over the years? She’s a hugger. He’s probably hugged her thousands of times at this point. And he definitely allows her to invade his personal space more than he allows anyone else. She has the incredibly rare quality that he seeks: The ability to not deplete his willingness to socialize. Not only that, but being around her often helps him recoup his energy so that he can tolerate other people better.

Ty Lee says he has a lot of empathy and that’s why people exhaust him. Zuko thinks that the reason people exhaust him so much is because they’re stupid and self-centered.

“I always have room for you, Katara.”

She sighs, blowing a stray curl out of her face, and mutters something that sounds like, “Thank La.” The, she reaches up to link her fingers with his where they dangle in front of her collarbone. “Are you hungry?”

It’s nearly two in the morning. He’s been out with Sokka and the others for hours.

“I’m starving,” he rasps. His mouth and throat are drier than Si Wong during a drought. He can feel an awkward exchange coming on at any second now.

“Do you want to get some dumplings? I think I could eat about a hundred right now.”

“Are you staying at my place tonight?” he says instead of answering her question.

And _there_ it is.

His face flushes beet red. Thankfully, Katara has he phone out and she’s busy texting someone, so she doesn’t notice. He sees her mouth screw up and her nose wrinkle.

“Have you been around Sokka and Suki tonight?” she asks, oblivious. “They’re cute, but I know what I’m bound to see if I head home. _Ew._ ” She shudders. “There’s a decent chance that I’ll be at your place for the next _week_.”

His brain tells him it’s hyperbole. His heart tells her, “Okay. You can stay as long as you’d like. I don’t mind.”

Ah, fuck. Agni strike him down with lightning _now_.

Katara laughs and tucks her phone back into her pocket. “You’re too nice to me, Zuko,” she says. “Let’s start with tonight. I’ll let you know how things go when I find the courage to go home tomorrow. Dumplings?” She tilts her head and looks up at him through her eyelashes.

Zuko’s knees promptly liquefy. He’s positive that, were his ridiculously extravagant car not there to hold him up, Katara would be helping him off the ground.

And then, she does something she’s never done before. She tugs his hand that’s linked with hers up to her mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

It’s nothing short of a lightning bolt to the chest and it takes every last ounce of willpower and concentration he has not to let his face show it. He sends up a silent _fuck you_ to Agni for actually listening to his request.

“I’ll pay,” Katara says.

“You don’t have to pay,” he grumbles, pushing away from his car and leading her over to the passenger’s side so he can get the door for her.

“I know,” she says, sliding into the car. Zuko tries not to gawk as one long leg disappears after the other. “But I’m going to. Is Li’s good?”

Zuko nods and shuts the car door. Li’s is always good. It’s their go-to for late-night dumpling cravings. The owner (Li himself) knows Katara’s voice when she calls in their orders. He also knows their order by heart. The delivery boy (Li’s son) has been to Zuko’s place to drop off food so often that he’s developed a sort of camaraderie with Katara who is always the one to answer the door. (The first time Zuko ordered from Li’s when Katara wasn’t around, the delivery boy was genuinely perplexed by Zuko’s presence in the apartment, as if he didn’t know that Zuko lived there.)

Fishing his phone and key fob out of his pocket, Zuko shoots off a quick text to Aang to _please keep an eye on Sokka and make sure he gets home alright._ Then he sends another text to Sokka, _CHECK IN WITH AANG BEFORE YOU GO ANYWHERE._ When he gets into the car, Katara is laughing on the phone to Li.

“…maybe six or seven?” she’s saying. “It’s been a long night and there has been _very_ little food.”

Zuko chucks the fob into the cupholder and presses the button to start his car. Just before he pulls out of the parking space, the screen of his phone lights up, a notification from Sokka appearing. He puts the car back in park and opens the text message.

_What did Katara DO to that little dude?_

A frown creases Zuko’s brow and he looks at the girl in his passenger’s seat. She laughs a goodbye to Li and then tucks her phone into what looks to be the world’s smallest purse.

“I just ordered _so many_ dumplings,” she says with a grin. “Do you want to watch a movie or something while we binge?”

He’s tempted to ask if there is anything she wants to talk about, but past experiences with Katara have taught him that he’s not great at asking her about her problems in a way that makes her want to talk to him. There have been several nasty arguments over the years that took a while to patch up. So all he says as he pulls the car onto the wet streets of Caldera City is, “Thank you, Katara. You didn’t have to leave, you know.”

“I know,” she replies. Her eyes are fixed on the passing buildings. “In all honesty, I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear any thoughts! Hearing from readers truly makes me love posting all the more, so please don't be shy. I have this whole thing written, so updates will be regular.


	2. A Hundred Thrown-Out Speeches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness! Thank you all SO MUCH for your kinds words, your kudos, and your bookmarks! This little AU is near and dear to my heart and I'm so thrilled to know that you're all loving it!

Katara loves monsoon season in Caldera City. The smell of petrichor as rain hits the pavement, the way everything in sight seems to glitter and glisten under the streetlights and neon signs, the hushed rush of car tires over a slick layer of water… It all brings a sense of newness to this city of constant motion. Her eyes drink it all in as Zuko drives towards his apartment. Rainstorms make everything feel as if the world has been touched by a sprinkling of magic. Sometimes Katara wishes that she could reach out to stop a storm with her fingers just so she could watch the drops sparkle as they hang, suspended in the sky.

“What could you have to thank me for?” Zuko says.

His voice is quiet as it breaks over the music pulsing at a low volume through the speakers of the car. Katara tips her head against the buttery leather headrest and turns her eyes to study him. He has one pale, long-fingered hand resting on the steering wheel. The other grips the gearshift as he readies himself for the light to change. He doesn’t look at her, but that’s okay. Katara is a person of layers and complexity as much as Zuko is, but something about the way he casts his golden eyes at her often makes her feel like he can peel her defenses back and see right to the center of her soul. Exchanging one glance with him can induce her to feel utterly bare and startlingly _seen—_ for _everything_ that she is.

There are some things Katara doesn’t talk to Zuko about. The way she feels when he looks at her is one of them.

They are a delicate balance that she doesn’t dare disrupt no matter how much she wants to.

“You saved me tonight,” Katara finally says.

The smudge of her plum-colored lipstick on the ridge of Zuko’s knuckles looks like a bruise on his pale skin when she catches sight of it in the dim lights of the dashboard. Before tonight, she’d never so much as thought of following through on an urge to kiss him. Any part of him. There had been times over the years where she had wondered what it would be like to know the part of his lips under hers, the slide of his hair through her fingers, but they walk a fine line between liking each other and torpedoing their friendship on a daily basis. That solitary kiss pressed to the smooth backside of his hand was as close as she’s ever come to chasing that urge for discovery. And if the unreadable look on his face and strange flash in his eyes told her anything, it was that the impulse hadn’t been well-received.

She’d nearly toppled the Jenga tower that was their friendship because she’d let her guard down and stopped second guessing every move she made.

She blamed it on the club and the general merriment of the evening.

Engagements were romantic things. They inspired people to recklessly up the ante on the romance in their own lives.

And kissing Zuko’s hand had _definitely_ been reckless. She wants to reach out and thumb away the lipstick inked across the his knuckles, but the thought of breaching the barrier of touch again holds her back.

“I’m always willing to give you a place to stay,” Zuko says. The subtle shift in the way he sits in his seat coincides with the way he shifts gears. She admires that he can drive stick. The one time she tried to learn, she broke the ignition in her father’s truck.

“No,” she shakes her head. “That’s not what I was…”

His eyebrow quirks up, questioning.

Katara groans and runs a hand over her face. “Aang,” she supplies.

“Ah,” Zuko replies. Katara thinks he accelerates a little more, the car rushing over the surface of the street. It’s a sound she loves, the hush of tires over pavement when there is rain on the ground but not in the sky. “Didn’t go well?”

“Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating Sokka and Suki,” Katara says. “And he just…” She lets a sigh of frustration gust out of her mouth. “The _moment_ he had a chance to catch me alone.”

Zuko clears his throat. “Repeat of last time?” he asks.

Katara frowns at the memory—intermission at a deplorable play, she’d just gone outside to get some fresh air and found herself caught off guard by a surprise and not entirely welcome kiss. It hadn’t been the first time Aang had done something like that either.

“No.”

They fall into silence for a moment. Katara relaxes into the seat, running her fingers absentmindedly along the stitching that crosses the leather. It was an admittedly nice car that Iroh had given Zuko. _Absurdly_ nice.

“Like something the Blue Spirit would drive!” Sokka had positively squealed the first time he’d seen the car.

Zuko had scoffed, folded his arms over his chest, and said, “The Blue Spirit would _never_.”

It didn’t stop Sokka from calling the car the Blue Spirit Mobile behind Zuko’s back.

Katara bites back a smile as she thinks that Sokka isn’t too far off the mark. Out of all their friends, Zuko _would_ be the one most likely to have a secret vigilante alter ego. If she let her imagination run wild, she could pretend that she was being spirited away (oh, La, she _was_ Sokka’s sister, making puns as bad as _that_ ) by a dark and brooding anti-hero who had just swooped in to save her life.

“Have you ever considered, y’know, letting him down easy?” Zuko asks.

“I thought I had!” Katara exclaims, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. The corner of his mouth twitches into the briefest smirk. “Telling someone _not now_ can definitely be interpreted as _but maybe soon_.”

“Well, I get that now, thank you _very_ much,” Katara huffs. “It just…took me a long time to learn that Aang doesn’t _do_ subtle. So I had to take a page out of the book of Suki and Ty Lee.”

At that, Zuko laughs, a deep rumbling that shakes his chest and shoulders. “Do we need to alert the authorities?”

“ _Ha ha_ , Zuko,” Katara says. Her lip curls in a temporary sneer.

His laugh dies out, but a smile still plays about his lips. The car decelerates and Zuko flips on a turn signal to enter the parking garage under his apartment building.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Do you think he finally understands?”

“Well, I told him that I’m not interested, so I certainly hope so.”

Zuko hums thoughtfully as he parks the car, but doesn’t say anything. The impassive mask falls back over his pale face.

“What?” Katara asks.

The slam of car doors echoes even louder than normal in the late-night, early-morning air of the parking garage. Zuko cuts his eyes, golden like fragile autumn sunlight, to hers. It’s that look that cuts her to the core and hits like lightning somewhere near her sternum, the one that strikes her dumb and turns her legs wobbly.

It’s unfair how he can do that to her with a look.

“Nothing,” he says. His eyes flash like they did back in the parking lot behind the club.

“It’s something,” Katara retorts. She presses the button to call the elevator.

“Really,” Zuko says, but one of his hands reaches up to rub the back of his neck, the way it always does when he’s feeling awkward or hiding something. “It’s not anything. I just…feel bad for the kid.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, Zuko.”

They step into the elevator in tandem. The doors close.

“Right. I’m just… I _get it_. That’s all.”

Katara’s stomach does a funny little flip that she blames on the way the elevator jerks when it starts its ascent. “You get it,” she deadpans.

“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “Being so stupidly into someone and hoping against hope every time she laughs at a joke you make or smiles at you…” He shrugs again and shuffles his feet, refusing to look her in the eye. “I get it.”

Katara squints at him and frowns. “I thought you were over that,” she says.

And now he _is_ looking at her, his eyes wide and his body drawn away from hers into the corner of the elevator. He’s like an antelope-deer in the headlights.

“What?” he says.

Katara feels her frown deepen and reaches out a hand to touch his arm, smoothing a thumb over the leather of his bomber jacket. The muscle in his arm twitches under her hand. “This is about Mai, right?” she asks gently. “I thought you were over that.”

“Oh.” Zuko seems to physically deflate as his shoulders relax and his body loses the tension it had been so taut with a moment ago. He chuckles, but it lacks enthusiasm. “No,” he says. “ _Definitely_ over that.”

The elevator comes to a juddering stop and the doors slide open with a ding. Katara steps out onto the floor Zuko’s apartment is on, her wedges making muted thuds against the carpet. He falls into step beside her, keys to his apartment jingling in his hand. When he opens the door and shows her inside, one of his hands pressing gently on the small of her back, he mutters, “Definitely,” under his breath.

She thinks that maybe she wasn’t intended to hear it and tries to write it off, but a frisson of electricity sings up her spine anyway.

* * *

Zuko makes tea. It’s the only thing he can think to do with his shaking hands while Katara raids his room for comfortable clothes.

Whenever he makes tea, he inevitably thinks of Uncle Iroh and that prevents his mind from wandering places it shouldn’t. Like imagining that Agni-damned navy blue mini skirt puddled on his bedroom floor. Or wondering about the way that tiny white shirt Katara was wearing tonight might slip over the skin of her back.

“Uncle Iroh in the hot springs,” Zuko mutters. He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the edge of the counter until the image of his uncle in all of his old, wrinkled glory successfully squelches any ungentlemanly thoughts. “Uncle Iroh in the hot springs. Uncle Iroh…”

_Yep. That takes care of that_.

The electric kettle on the counter beeps and Zuko twists off the top to dump some tea leaves into the basket. He makes a note of the time on the microwave before plucking two mugs from a cabinet. As he watches the water darken, he wonders if that’s all this is. Maybe he misread his own feelings. This could all just be some stupid instinct to get in someone’s pants now that he’s been without Mai for a while.

It had hurt when Mai decided to leave him the last time. The final time. He’d come home one day to find her shampoo missing from the shower, her toothbrush in the bathroom trash, and her dresser drawer empty. That was how he knew she meant it that time. There was no note, just a text message later that night that said, _We both deserve love, Zuko. I hope you find it someday_. It had been so…cold. So impersonal. As though there had been nothing to their relationship that had cemented them together in the slightest.

Zuko didn’t have the people skills to pull off something like a rebound or a one-night stand. It was why he found himself twenty-six years old and a serial monogamist with hardly a handful of past relationships. Maybe this was different, though. He hadn’t loved Mai, but he’d certainly had a lot of affection for her and held her in a high regard. But maybe having your heart broken changed a person.

The final minute ticks away and Zuko pours out the tea. He methodically cleans out the kettle and the basket and is watching steam roll off the mugs when Katara enters the kitchen. She runs a hand down his arm and peeks into the mugs.

“You made tea?”

“Just herbal,” he tells her.

She leans close to the mugs of tea and inhales with a delighted, throaty hum. Her blue eyes are bright when she looks back at him.

“It smells like apple pie!”

“Uncle has been experimenting again.”

“A Jasmine Dragon brew, huh? You didn’t have to break out the good stuff for me, Zuko.”

Zuko snorts. “Uncle would be personally offended if I let you drink anything else.”

Katara smirks and opens her mouth to say something, but there is a knock at the door and her smirk splits into a grin that makes Zuko’s stomach lurch in a way that tells him this is _definitely_ not lust or infatuation. There is no way that he would find her excitement over _dumplings_ so damn endearing otherwise. He follows her to the door in a bemused daze, a mug in either hand. He raises one in silent greeting to Li’s son as Katara chatters away and signs the receipt, leaving a very generous tip on what Zuko can see is a rather hefty bill for their usual late night dumpling order.

When Katara starts pulling box after box of dumplings out of the bag, Zuko sees why. He stops scrolling for a movie to take in the sea of takeout boxes that clutter up his coffee table.

“This is…this is _so many dumplings_.”

“Yeah,” Katara says. There is no shame in her eyes. “I’m _hungry_. Get ‘em while they’re still available.” Then she picks up a dumpling with her fingers, dunks it into the soy sauce, and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.

Zuko grins, selects a comedy he knows Katara will like, and breaks apart a pair of chopsticks. “No utensils?” he asks.

“Screw utensils,” Katara says, her mouth full of dough and veggies and pork. “If you thought Sokka was the only one in my family with that kind of appetite, you’re in for an _experience_.”

“As long as you don’t bite one of my fingers, I think we’ll be fine.”

“I make no promises,” Katara says with a toothy smile.

The movie goes largely ignored that night. Katara and Zuko demolish all of the dumplings between laughter and conversation. When the storm picks up again, Katara looks so delighted that Zuko opens a window in the living room so that the sound and scent of rain can be better heard throughout the room. The grin she shots in his direction as a response makes him smile and duck his head. When he looks down, he sees that her lipstick is still smudged across his knuckles.

“I’m so happy for them,” Katara says. She’s stretched out on the couch, her feet in Zuko’s lap, his propped up on the coffee table. He looks over to see her smiling at the ceiling. “They’re so in love and they’re so _good_ for each other.”

The credits are rolling on the television screen, but Zuko hasn’t bothered turning it off yet. He’s feeling lethargic now, sated with too much food after a long night of socializing.

“Suki certainly seems to understand Sokka’s genius on a level the rest of us can’t.”

Katara laughs quietly. “She takes his ideas in stride so well. And do you remember what a sexist pig he used to be?”

“She definitely made him see sense there.”

Katara hums in agreement. They are silent for a moment. Zuko looks down at Katara’s feet when she wiggles them against his thighs. Her toenails are painted electric blue. Suddenly, she props herself up in her elbows.

“Is that something you want?”

Zuko hopes his face doesn’t betray how startled he feels. “Um...what?” he says inelegantly.

“You know.” Katara sits up, pulling her feet away and wrapping her arms around her knees. “What Sokka and Suki have. The big shebang.”

“The _big shebang_?”

“Yeah. A long term relationship, marriage, eternal happiness, _that_ whole enchilada.”

“Are… Are you asking me if I want to get married?” Zuko chokes out.

Katara’s entire face turns a brilliant scarlet. “I’m not asking if you want to marry _me_ ,” she says hastily. “I’m just curious. You were with Mai for a really long time.”

“Kind of,” Zuko says. “We were on and off for years.”

She shrugs. “Still. That had to be something you guys talked about, right?”

“No,” he says. “It never came up.”

“Oh.”

Zuko thinks the conversation is now over and reaches to take the remote off the table. The movie credits are grating on his nerves now, an obnoxious pop song bubbling happily through the speakers. But Katara keeps pressing.

“So that’s not something you ever see for yourself?”

He sighs. “I mean... I’m not sure. My parents weren’t exactly the pinnacle of happiness when they were married, Katara. I guess it’s not something I’ve put a lot of thought into.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean _why_?” Zuko is starting to feel as though he’s under interrogation and it’s making him cagey. He can feel the burn of his temper rise in the back of his throat.

But Katara’s face is wide open and innocent when she says, “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He stares at her. He’s tempted to think she’s poking fun at him. She only blinks back at him, though, her eyes telling him that she’s trying to be as unwavering in her support of him as she’s always been.

“Katara,” he says slowly. “That’s incredibly nice of you to say, but between my personality and _this_ ,” he gestures to the scar on his face, “there’s a lot to reconcile with if someone wanted to be with me long term. It would take a very special person. She may not even exist.”

Before he knows what’s happening, his arms and lap are full of Katara. She’s straddling his hips and has her arms wrapped around him in a hug that threatens to stunt the flow of air into his lungs. Her hair smells like berries and brown sugar, though there is an underlying musk of sweat from the club. She picked one of his oldest shirts to wear. The material is soft and thin under his hands when he pats her back.

“I hope,” she says, her voice soft, “that one day you see yourself the way the people you love see you, Zuko.”

She pulls back and presses her palms to his cheeks. He freezes. The sensation is faint, but he feels the brush of her thumb right near the edge of his scar, sweeping back and forth. Their eyes locked, Zuko feels more than sees her inhale sharply before she presses her fingertips fully to the mottled flesh.

“Is this okay?”

Zuko swallows a lump in his throat and nods. It’s an intimate gesture, Katara touching his scar. He wonders if she knows that nobody has ever touched it before. Outside of doctors and very select family members like his mother and uncle, Zuko hadn’t allowed it on the rare occasion that someone tried. Mai never had.

Lower lip caught between her teeth, Katara traces the path of the scar from his cheekbone, over his ear, and into his hair. With her face inches from his own, Zuko is suddenly privy to details of this woman he’s never seen before. Her irises are rimmed with a thin circle of navy. Blue flecks a few shades lighter than the rest of her eyes sit close to her pupils like pops of lighting crackling through the color. He can see the faint smattering of freckles that dust across her nose. Her nails scrape lightly against the back of his head. Zuko’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His hands slide down her back to rest on her hips.

He feels like it would be really great if he had a fucking clue how to react.

“You’re such a good person,” Katara whispers. “You have a kind heart and you’re so unflinchingly brave. You’re disciplined and you’re generous. And...” She trails off, leans in a little bit closer so that she can rest her forehead against his.

Want and need course under Zuko’s skin, white hot with intensity. He’s certain that if he loses control, he’ll set them both on fire.

There are a thousand things he should say to her in response. She’s a tsunami that has ravaged his soul. The ferocity with which she cares about _everyone_ is unparalleled. She’s brilliant and beautiful like a summer storm. One of her smiles makes him feel like he could go into battle, a one man army against thousands, and win.

But there are some things that Zuko doesn’t talk to Katara about. And he’s afraid that putting a voice to any of these thoughts will shatter this moment like a glass house in a hurricane.

He dares to let his thumbs stroke her sides and she shifts closer, her chest pressing to his gently as she breathes. Her exhale is a shiver that tells him he’s not alone in being consumed by this moment. Their noses brush. Katara’s eyes fall shut.

Zuko tries to beat back the feeling that this is a point of no return. There’s too much enormity in that idea. He reaches up to brush a curl of hair away from her face and closes the distance.

The fire of need that had been roiling under his skin begins a riot near his sternum. It takes everything— _everything_ —Zuko has to let this continue as fragilely as it began. Her lips on his are soft, exploratory, but her hand trembles against his cheek and he knows he's not the only one shoveling sand to hold back an unstoppable flood. He presses a searing kiss to her mouth and she makes a small noise that sounds like delight. Her hand tightens where it grips his hair.

All of Zuko’s self-control burns to ash around him.

And then it’s a fucking _explosion_.

They leave a trail of clothes that leads from the couch down the short hallway to his bedroom. Zuko takes his knee out on the doorframe in a rush to shake his pants off. At one point, they almost roll off the bed. And Katara is _everywhere_ , her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her hair flung out across the pillows, his name on her lips in reverence.

On the rare occasions Zuko had allowed himself to think about what sex with Katara would be like, he never pictured it this way. She is soft but assertive. She leaves affirmations and kisses trailed along his skin. And when she rises above him, hands pressed to his stomach, and reaches her peak, his name is a strangled scream on her tongue.

When he finally comes down from his high, Katara is sprawled on her stomach under the blankets and her eyes are closed. Assuming she’s asleep, Zuko rolls off the bed and begins the hunt for his boxers, positive there will be no way he’s getting any sleep tonight. Not when he’s out on the couch without her.

There is a sleepy hum from the direction of the bed and then, “Zuko?” And the way she says his name now sends a new kind of affection through his heart, one that is riddled with the fear of what might come next.

Zuko turns to see Katara sitting up, bare to the world, hair wild, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He wants nothing more than to sink into the bed right beside her and fight over the blankets in their sleep. He wants to wake up to her makeup smudged face and her body pressed tight to his.

Agni, help him. He’s fucking _gone_.

“Where’re you going?”

He gestures over his shoulder. “I was—”

“Oh, for the love of La.” Now she’s disgruntled. “It’s _your_ bed, Zuko. I’ll go sleep on the couch if you don’t want—”

His heart crams its way into his throat. “No!” he chokes out.

Katara freezes and casts a wary eye at him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to stay,” he says.

She sighs and pads over to him on gentle feet. She pries the boxers from his grip and takes his hands in hers. They stand there, naked and eye to eye. “Zuko,” she says, her thumb smoothing over the back of his hand, “you’re overthinking this. I don’t know about you, but I’m _tired_ of overthinking this. I’d like you to stay. Are you going to?”

Zuko hopes the nod he gives her doesn’t seem too eager. He also hopes that she doesn’t see him trip over his own two feet as she leads him back to the bed. They slide under the blankets and she says, “I’m not a particularly cuddly sleeper, but we can if you’d like.”

He isn’t prone to holding someone or fond of being held all night long either. He likes his space, but this is new and unknown and he _does_ want to be close to her. So he molds himself to her body and whispers, “Is this okay?”

A content hum is his answer. Katara threads her fingers through his where they rest on her belly.

“Should we talk about this?”

There is a soft giggle. “Probably. But,” a yawn, “I’m so tired. In the morning?”

Zuko nods and nuzzles his face into her neck.

He is asleep within moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from any and all of you lovely readers! I truly appreciate all of the support you've given so far. :)


	3. In the Aftermath

When Katara wakes up, it’s to cool sheets that smell like cardamom and a stickiness between her thighs. She rolls over, hand reaching but finding purchase on nothing except for the empty stretch of mattress beside her. Zuko is close by, though, because it was his voice that woke her up. She ekes open an eye that is gummy with old makeup and sleep to see that he is dressed and pacing the floor of his bedroom. He is repeatedly raking one hand through his hair as he talks on the phone. His face is as impassive as usual, but the frenetic motion of his hand tells her that he’s distressed.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Uncle,” he says.

Katara sits up, scooting to lean her back against the headboard. She tucks the blankets over her bare chest and shoves a hand through her tangled hair. Zuko hangs up his phone and scrounges for a pen and old receipt on his dresser. She watches him jot something down before he turns to her. His mouth is pulled into a terse frown and there is something in his eyes that calls out to her heart. Not sadness, but some sort of hurt.

“That was my uncle,” Zuko says. “There’s an emergency with my father.”

Katara remembers Ozai as a series of shadows that loomed in dark rooms of Zuko’s childhood home. Rarely did he emerge from his private study, but when he did, he reeked of expensive whiskey and spewed vitriol across his house. His marriage to Zuko’s kind-hearted mother had been the first victim of his behavior. Zuko’s face had been the second when Ozai’s rage over the divorce had finally boiled over. The arrest had led to the reveal of other crimes, many of them of the white-collar variety. When Zuko was sixteen, the trial wrapped up and his father had been sentenced to life in prison without parole. At that point, he’d been living with his mother in his uncle’s house for three years. Azula had elected to go the route of emancipation, living with Ty Lee until the day she was eligible.

“They’ve taken him to the hospital.”

Her heart goes out to Zuko. He stands there, worrying the pen between his fingers and looking like he’s ready to bolt out of his own skin if it means not having to deal with this.

“Zuko,” she says, eyes big and soft, “I’m so sorry.”

It goes unsaid that she’s sorry Zuko has to deal with the trauma of his past being dredged up, not so much that Ozai is in some sort of peril. Katara’s vindictive streak has always run a little hotter than most people’s and she’d had her own ideas of what should have happened to Ozai after he’d scarred his son. Life in prison had seemed too kind. The man deserved worse. Like a sneak attack from an assassin.

Zuko swallows hard. She can see it.

“I have to go there,” he says.

Katara blinks at him a few times, mouth ajar. “I’m sorry,” she says, utterly blindsided, “but _what?_ ”

“There are some legal issues apparently,” Zuko says. His hand goes back to raking itself roughly through his hair.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Zuko shakes his head. He crosses the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. “It’s family only,” he tells her.

Reaching out to cover his hand with her own, Katara asks, “Are you okay with going?”

He lets out a little huff of frustration, but doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he turns it over so that their palms meet and then he tangles his fingers with hers. “Uncle says that I don’t have to see Father. He’s already there himself. But there is a bunch of stuff I have to handle.”

“Why can’t your uncle deal with it?”

“I don’t know.” There is genuine frustration in Zuko’s voice. His hand squeezes around Katara’s. “All I know is that Uncle said it has to be me and that I need to get there as quickly as possible.”

“Oh.”

“We said we would talk this morning.”

“We did,” Katara says in a measured voice. Awareness of her bare skin touching Zuko’s sheets floods her system and her face flushes crimson.

“I still want to talk.” His eyes rise up to meet hers. They are autumn sunshine. Katara feels the same jolt of electricity from last night zing down her spine. “Please don’t think that I don’t want to.”

Katara shakes her head. “Of course I don’t think that, Zuko,” she murmurs.

“Can we talk when I’m done dealing with this?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’ll _want_ to?”

Zuko’s lips twist into a wry little smile and he lets out a sad half chuckle. “What more can that man do to me, Katara?” He brings his free hand up to touch her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her skin. She finds herself leaning into the caress, eyes fluttering half closed. “There is nothing else he can take away from me. He’s already ruined my past. _I_ own my future. And this,” the way his thumb strokes her cheek strengthens slightly, becomes more deliberate, “ _you_ , are so good. I want to talk if you still want to talk.”

Katara cannot tear her gaze from his, stunned by the words and the way they seem to leave Zuko’s lips with ease. He has never been what she would call eloquent.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I still want to talk.”

“Okay.”

And then he leans in to fill the gap and presses his lips to hers so gently that she feels she might shatter into a hundred million pieces. Her heart stutters and she can feel her extremities tremble. When he pulls away, she swallows hard and can’t help the stunned, “ _Wow_ ,” that follows a sigh out of her mouth.

Zuko laughs and his cheeks flush. “I’ll leave a spare key on the counter for you,” he says. “In case you don’t want to spend all day here. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Okay.”

“Can I call you when it’s over with?”

“Yes!”

Oh, _La_. She sounds like a desperate schoolgirl with a stupidly large crush.

Zuko stands to leave, flicking lint from his plain black t-shirt. Every part of Katara’s soul wants to die from the cringing shame of sounding like such a fool while simultaneously bursting into a happy flock of brilliantly colored butterflies from sheer happiness. She hears the lock slide closed in the front door and flops onto her back, a huge grin lighting up her face.

For a while, she allows herself the luxury of lounging in Zuko’s bed and borrows his charger to inject a little more life back into her phone. It’s still early yet, not even nine, and she knows that she can expect a text from Ty Lee who will want to arrange some sort of activity to polish off the weekend.

Katara likes Zuko’s apartment. He keeps things neat as a pin and everything has a place to which it must be returned. The windows in the apartment face east towards the sunrise and span nearly the entire distance from the floor to the ceilings. Zuko is, surprisingly enough, not as dark and gloomy as his initial impression might suggest. The curtains on the windows are white and airy. His furnishings are simple and masculine but homey in a curious way. There are a lot of clean lines. It’s all very unfussy. Tidy but relaxing.

It’s a far cry from the hovel that Sokka keeps with Aang and Haru.

Especially, Katara realizes when she goes to shower, when it comes to the bathroom.

The bathroom at her brother’s place is always a disaster. Beard hair clogging up the sink and scattered across its porcelain surface. A grubby bathmat that always makes her wonder how none of the guys have athlete’s foot. Damp towels piled on the floor. Open tubes of toothpaste. Sometimes there are dirty, crusty dishes left on the counter. Whichever one of them is eating meals in their disgusting bathroom, she doesn’t even _want_ to know.

Katara definitely doesn’t have to ask Suki why she never stays at Sokka’s place.

Zuko’s bathroom is, like the rest of his place, orderly and void of feminine touches. Katara finds herself with no recourse but to use his shampoo and body wash. She could have gone home to shower, she realizes after she has wrapped herself in a fluffy scarlet towel, but the sweat that had accumulated after countless bars and clubs and some unexpected, athletic, _passionate_ sex had left her desperate to scrub herself clean. She takes inventory of her body. There is a hickey on her inner thigh and another near the opposite hipbone. She tallies several more scattered across her breasts. The marks make her feel giddy in a way that she hasn’t been since she was a teenager and stumbled into some awkward heavy petting with a boyfriend.

The marks are surprising, really. She hadn’t expected Zuko to be so hands on in his exploration of her body. Not that she had anticipated the sex to be _bad_ in the very brief moments leading up to it. She had just expected some sort of awkwardness or some fumbling to get past the years of friendship. There had always been a bit of a learning curve with past lovers. Last night should have been a mess, statistically speaking. The odds were stacked against them. Or so she had felt right until the moment he had kissed her.

She’d been beating herself up for her impulsive actions, imagining that he must have been furious with her for invading his personal space (Zuko was _not_ a physically affectionate person) by first climbing into his lap and then touching the scar around his eye. And then he had looked at her, his pupils wide and dark, his pulse jumping in his throat, and all of the worries that had started gathering from the time she kissed his hand in the parking lot fled her mind.

Katara had not expected that giving in to the curiosity of what one kiss with Zuko was like would rip open the door to a chasm of insatiable hunger for _more_. More of the taste of him. More of the feel of his ridiculously well-muscled body under her fingertips. More of the screaming satisfaction that had taken over her body when he’d helped to drive her to that peak that had so often gone either undiscovered or been haphazardly sought by previous partners.

More of the soft way he smiled at her between kisses. More of the careful way he had run his palm across her stomach to pull her close to him before they’d fallen asleep. More of the frisson of feeling he sent through her soul with just a look.

Staring at her face in the bathroom mirror, the soft crinkle of her eyes, the gentle tilt of her lips, Katara realizes that she is well and truly fucked.

Pun not intended.

She meanders back into Zuko’s bedroom, remembering his grunt of surprise when his knee smacked the doorframe, the riot of laughter that had blossomed from their chests when they’d almost rolled off the bed. It had started off so delicate, so fragile. And then... Like floodwaters exploding through the world’s weakest dam, suddenly it hadn’t been. But it had been easy. _So_ e _asy_. And she wants to be suspicious of that because it never had been easy with anyone else before. But maybe, a voice in the back of her mind says, the ease of it didn’t need to be questioned.

Maybe she needed to question why she’d been too terrified to push this boundary sooner.

There are a dozen or so missed messages from Ty Lee, Suki, and Toph waiting on Katara’s phone. Suki had sent an individual text letting Katara know it was _safe to come home and thanks for understanding_. Ty Lee had started a group chat, bubbly and perky as ever, skillfully organizing a _girls only brunch. Meet at the Golden Phoenix at 10:30 sharp. I got a reservation!_ Ty Lee’s charm comes through in such a way, even over text, that not even Toph, who often finds Ty Lee to be more than mildly overwhelming, can say no.

Katara checks the time and curses before she scrambles back into her clothes from the night before, hastily makes Zuko’s bed, and dashes out the door. True to his word, Zuko has left her a spare key on the breakfast bar, shiny brass that looks as though it has never before been used.

Thankfully, Katara and Suki don’t live too far from Zuko. It’s a twenty minute walk at the most. Katara is dashing down the street as fast as her wedges will carry her when Suki calls.

“Did you see Ty Lee’s suggestion?”

“Yeah,” Katara pants. She hopes she doesn’t sound like she’s about to keel over. “I’m almost home. Five more minutes.”

“Are you coming from Zuko’s?” Suki asks.

“Yup.”

“Usually he offers to drive you home.”

“There was an emergency this morning,” Katara tells her. She books it through a crosswalk with not enough time to spare. The pedestrian signal changes and the driver in front of her honks his horn indignantly.

“Is everything okay with him?”

“I don’t know,” Katara says. The voice of her future sister-in-law and best friend makes the truth of last night burn in her chest. She wants so desperately to tell a friend about what happened. “Suki?”

“Yeah?”

The words get stuck in her throat. Blurting out _I had sex with Zuko_ doesn’t seem like something she should do on a busy sidewalk.

“Never mind,” she says instead.

“Okay,” Suki says. There is amusement in her voice. “Hey, I’ll unlock the door so you don’t have to deal.”

“Thank you!”

“Sure thing. See you in a minute!”

Katara makes it home with just enough time to relish in the fact that it’s Sokka-free for the time being and to shimmy out of her nasty, stinky clothes from the night before and into her favorite loose white V-neck and distressed jeans. Suki chatters her ear off about preliminary wedding ideas while she finger combs her damp hair into a braid, runs some eyeliner across her eyes, and shoves a chunky silver bracelet over her wrist and a pair of her favorite hoops through her ear piercings.

“Are we picking up Toph?” she asks once they’re in Suki’s car.

“Not today,” Suki replies. “She’s coming from her parents’ house, so she gets the luxury of arriving by car service.”

“Ah, the blessings of being a Beifong,” Katara says lightly. Both girls laugh at the absurdity of the statement, knowing that Toph hates the perks of being a Beifong almost as much as she hates the last name itself.

Suki spends the car ride in full bride mode and Katara could not be more thankful. The confession of how she had spent the previous night still lingers on her tongue and she wants more than anything to confide in Suki. But Suki’s excitement about the engagement (to _Sokka_ of all people!) reminds Katara that to unload this secret now would be rude. She had so wanted last night to be about Sokka and Suki. And it had! And then it hadn’t. And she had deliberately left so that it _would_ _!_

The Golden Phoenix is crawling with people. The tables on the patio are all taken and the lobby is full of patrons who are waiting for their reservation time. After a short search, Suki and Katara are able to locate Ty Lee who is waving enthusiastically at them from the back of the restaurant in all of her typical hot pink glory. Dodging and weaving their way through gold painted pillars, waitstaff with trays of food, and some rude customers who sit with their rattan chairs jutting out into the walkways, Katara and Suki make their way to the table.

Ty Lee isn’t alone. Toph is already there as well, sitting on the opposite side of the booth. She stares, unseeing, out the huge window that frames the table. Suki claims the seat next to Ty Lee, leaving Katara to sit next to Toph.

Katara stubbornly keeps her secret buried through the first part of brunch. Toph, who had missed the engagement bash due to a family obligation, is armed with layers of sarcasm, but subtly eager to hear details from the evening and make lewd jokes at Suki’s expense nonetheless.

The four women are just digging into their food when, Toph turns to Katara and loudly asks, “Why do you smell different?”

Katara freezes, a forkful of waffle halfway to her mouth. “I don’t _smell different_.”

“Yes, you do.” Toph leans a little closer, the movement making a funny squeak against the fabric of the bench.

“Are you _smelling me_?” Katara says, affronted.

“Just making sure,” Toph says. “Why do you smell like Zuko?”

“I don’t smell like _Zuko_ ,” Katara insists.

But she knows that she does. She’d used his shower products this morning. She’d woken up blanketed in those crisp, white sheets that had smelled so wonderfully of cardamom. She had spent the early hours of the morning doing things with him that she had never before thought were a possibility.

Suki and Ty Lee are eating their food, faces belying no curiosity. It’s almost as if they don’t notice how out of place this conversation is.

“She did stay at Zuko’s last night so that Sokka and Suki could have some privacy,” Ty Lee offers up helpfully.

Toph shakes her head and then brushes her bangs away from her eyes. “This is different from the way Katara usually smells after she stays at Zuko’s.”

Katara can feel Suki eyeing her with interest now. When she dares to glance towards Toph out of the corner of her eye, she sees the beginning of a smirk on the younger woman’s lips. Her pale fingers tap the table absentmindedly.

She has to deflect. She _knows_ it. But she also knows that Toph has the uncanny ability to tell when people are lying. Sokka calls her a human lie detector. It has something to do with the way Toph can hear breathing patterns and catch differences in voice pitch. Katara has to give enough of the truth that Toph will be satisfied without taking away from this ongoing celebration of Sokka and Suki’s engagement.

“I actually showered there this morning. I got so sweaty last night.” This would probably have saved her if not for the way it sounded when she heard it—awkward and riddled with innuendo. So she quickly adds, “At the club! I got sweaty at the club!”

This is what gives her away. The smirk on Toph’s pixieish face turns downright _gleeful_. Katara knows that she’d be cackling loudly and unabashedly if they weren’t sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Her own stubborn silence is all she can muster up in response. She glowers at her waffle as though it has betrayed her.

Over the din of the Golden Phoenix, Katara hears Suki’s fork fall to her plate with a clatter. When she looks up, she reads unbridled glee in Ty Lee’s big gray eyes. There is a triumphant twist to the smile on Suki’s lips.

“Finally!” Ty Lee exclaims at the same time Suki thrusts her hand out into the middle of the table and demands, “Pay up, ladies.”

Toph grumbles good-naturedly and pulls a crumpled handful of bills out of her front pocket. She waves the wad of money in Suki’s direction. “Take only what you earned,” she says. Suki counts out a few disconcertingly large-numbered bills and then tucks the rest of the money back into Toph’s hand.

Ty Lee rifles through her purse and passes Suki what Katara can see is a pretty hefty sum.

Katara gapes at her friends. “ _What_ in the name of _La_ —?”

“Oh, get over yourself, Sugar Queen,” Toph says. She feels for her fork and her plate so that she can resume attacking her food with gusto.

“What?!”

“We’ve been waiting for this for _years_ ,” Ty Lee says.

Katara’s face burns. She splutters indignantly. Suki reaches out to cover Katara’s hand. “If it helps,” she says, “we’ve all been rooting for you two. None of us bet against you.”

“What does that even _mean_?” Katara asks.

“Well,” Toph says in a matter of fact way, “the three of us knew you two would end up…y’know." She wiggles her fingers and makes an indelicate face, as though the thought of intercourse can incite cooties to attack the person who brings it up. “It was just a matter of time.”

“But _I_ didn’t even know!” Katara protests. “How did all of you?”

“Oh, please,” Toph scoffs. “You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife at literally any given moment. There were only three people who couldn’t see it. You—”

“Zuko,” Ty Lee adds.

“And Aang,” Suki finishes. “And speaking of Aang, what did you do to him last night? He was downright _morose_ the rest of the evening after he talked to you.”

Katara groans and buries her flushed face in her hands. “I told him that I’m not interested in him,” she says. “I’m so sorry if it ruined your night, Suki.”

Suki only shrugs. “It didn’t ruin my night. _Nothing_ could have ruined my night.” She grins and her cheeks turn a little pink. “I get to marry your brother!”

Toph snorts. “You really have it bad.”

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Katara tells Suki. “Today should still be all about you."

“Like _hell_ we aren’t talking about it,” Suki says. “We want to know _everything_.”

“How was it?” Ty Lee asks, leaning forward. “Because Mai said—”

“Eww!” Katara exclaims. “I don’t want to know what _Mai_ said!”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Ty Lee says kindly. “Mai is totally over him. She has someone new and everything.”

“That’s great,” Katara says. She means it, too. Zuko and Mai’s involvement had been somewhat torturous. They’d cared about one another. Everyone had seen it. But neither of them had been happy. Something had always seemed to be missing, some little bit of connection or understanding. Just because Mai has found someone new, though, doesn’t mean Katara wants to hear her review of Zuko’s sexual prowess.

“Who started it?” Suki asks.

“No,” Toph interrupts. “That’s the wrong question.” She aims her frosted gaze at Katara’s forehead. “ _How_ did it start?”

“How is _that_ the right question?” Suki demands. “The three of us _know_ how it started.”

“What?” Katara says unintelligently.

“It’s like Ty Lee said, we’ve been waiting for this for years.”

“How many years?” Katara is almost afraid to know.

The other three exchange looks and shrugs. There is a muttering exchange of numbers.

“Three years,” Ty Lee says.

“Roughly,” Toph adds.

“ _Roughly?_ ”

Toph shrugs. “I’ve had this pegged since I met you two in high school.”

“High school?” Incredulity floods Katara’s system. Zuko hadn’t even been on her radar in high school. He’d been more Sokka’s friend at that point. They’d had their moments, certainly, but they had gone through an uncertain time after he’d helped her procure the necessary items upon finding her panicking over her bloodstained bikini bottoms when she was thirteen. It had been a rattling experience for both of them.

“I’ve got an eye for these things,” Toph says drily. “Spooky, isn’t it?”

“What happened three years ago?” Katara asks her friends quietly. She’s afraid of the answer because she can’t remember _anything_ that happened between her and Zuko three years ago that would have been a prelude to last night. Not anything that the girls would have been privy to, at least.

“Do you remember when Iroh invited us all to Ember Island to celebrate the fact that Zuko, Sokka, and I had graduated college?” Suki says.

“Why would I forget that?” Katara says, perturbed.

“That night we had the bonfire out at the beach?”

“Oh,” Katara says. And then, louder, eyes wide,“ _Oh_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title for this chapter is "Ladies Who Brunch."
> 
> I'm so sorry.
> 
> Only I'm...not. Because the summary does say that this story covers the 24 hours that change the dynamics of Zuko and Katara's relationship. Also... Backstory is a thing that has to happen. We need context! There will be plenty of Zuko/Katara interactions in the next chapter to make up for the fact that they don't have the Very Important Discussion in this one.
> 
> As always, thank you SO MUCH for your continued support through kudos, bookmarks, and kind words! I'm delighted to know that this story is well-received. It's been a long time since I ventured into the realm of fanfiction and I've been feeling a little rusty. Your kindness and support mean the world to me and give me the courage to keep on posting! :)


	4. Open Up My Eager Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's journey back in time...

Katara is one and a half drinks in to what promises to be a relaxing evening. The sands of Eien No Honō beach slide over and between her toes, cool from the darkness of night. She wiggles her feet deeper into the sand and leans back onto her elbows, the rough fabric of the beach blanket scratching at her forearms. She faces the ocean, eyes steady on the way the waves roll beneath their commanding moon. Behind her burns a large, robust bonfire.

In the distance, she can see Sokka and Suki walking along the edge of the tide. Suki’s arm is wrapped around Sokka’s waist and his is around her shoulders. It sends a pang of loneliness through her heart. She reaches for her drink and washes the pain away with a large gulp. The Fire Nation whiskey burns and the tears she’d felt coming on turn into a reaction to the alcohol.

“You’re not supposed to chug it,” says Zuko’s amused voice.

The sand beneath her blanket shifts with the addition of his weight. Katara turns to watch him drop down next to her. His limbs are long and pale in the firelight. The muscles that define them are accentuated by the glow. A beer bottle dangles from his right hand. She doesn’t answer him, but turns her eyes back to the shore.

“They’re lucky,” Zuko says after a moment.

Katara looks at him again. He, too, is watching Sokka and Suki. His eyes, which usually remind her of an autumn day, have taken on the glow of the fire, sparking and molten. Not for the first time, she finds herself wondering how he hasn’t attracted a wicked smart, scarily beautiful woman that’s willing to stick around. Aloneness doesn’t suit Zuko. It never has.

“Sokka loved her for so long,” she finally says. “I think it was love at first sight.”

“What about Yue?”

“Sokka’s never been one to chase after what he thinks he can’t have. He’s too pragmatic for that,” Katara says.

“That’s true,” Zuko says. “But he couldn’t have Yue either.”

Katara lets out a bitter laugh, takes a sip of her whiskey. “Yeah. But he didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t think he’d recover from that.”

“I think it was all part of his journey to Suki. Something he had to learn about himself in order to be whole enough to really give his heart away.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, Katara continuing to lounge next to Zuko. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, studying the way he presses the bottle to his lips, learning the lines of his exposed chest. She takes another sip of her whiskey and, with its encouragement, acknowledges to herself for the first time in a long time that she finds him attractive. It’s a fact that she doesn’t allow herself to examine, just lets it pass through her conscience once every few years. Danger comes in examination of that fact. It doesn’t if she regales it to a passing fancy.

“How are you doing?” His voice breaks into her thoughts like a rock through a window.

“Huh?” Katara rips her eyes away from the impressive set of abs she’d been ogling. He’s staring at her, but if he’s noticed where her gaze was, he doesn’t let on.

_Fuck._

It’s so spirits-damned unfair of him to just waltz around looking the way he does. Most college-aged guys she knows don’t look like that under their shirts. It’s a travesty, she thinks, that one of her oldest friends also has to be one of her hottest friends.

“How are you?” he repeats. “With the whole…” He gestures vaguely with his beer bottle.

“Horrifically embarrassing break up?” Katara supplies with a wry smile. “Medium well.”

“Fuck Jet,” Zuko says.

“That’s the problem,” she tells him, polishing off her whiskey. “I _did_.”

“Sex isn’t the problem, Katara,” Zuko says. “ _Feelings_ aren’t the problem. Jet was an asshole. _That_ was the problem.”

Katara reaches for the whiskey bottle and refills her glass. “I was naïve,” she says quietly. “That was a problem.”

Zuko shakes his head. “No,” he says. “People who take advantage of that are assholes. Jet was an asshole. That’s all there is to it.”

“It’s kind of you to not lay any of the blame at my feet,” Katara says. “Thank you for that. But I’ve learned my lesson and I’m a big girl. I know it’s not all as simple as that. Mostly I’m just…lonely.” She looks back to where her brother and Suki are walking, their footprints dark arrows pointing towards them in the darkness. “It makes finding something like that feel so much further away.”

“You will.”

“So will you,” Katara says with a smile.

Zuko snorts. “I’m so pathetic that Azula has decided to take pity on me and keeps asking to set me up with one of her friends.”

“How is Azula?”

He shrugs. “It’s the same old same old. Today she wants to be my little sister, tomorrow she’ll write me off as a lost cause.”

“That sucks.”

“Maybe we’ll manage to get it right someday.”

“I hope you do. She’d benefit a lot from a positive relationship with you.”

Zuko makes a sort of indifferent noise as he considers the bottle in his hand.

Curiosity gets the better of Katara. “Who does she want to set you up with?” she asks.

Zuko shrugs. “I don’t know. Some forensic science major that she knows from archery club.”

“Azula is in an _archery club?_ ”

“She and Ty Lee met on a gymnastics team when we were kids,” Zuko says with a smirk.

“A woman of diverse tastes.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Are you going to take her up on the offer?”

Zuko is peeling off the label on the bottle now, his thumb scraping away the paper. Katara wants to reach out and still his hand, wants to pry his fingers from the glass and entangle them with hers. She blames the impulse on the whiskey, the bonfire, the starlight, and the rush of waves rolling onto the beach.

“I don’t know,” he says softly, eyes steady on the tattered label. “I’ve been debating.”

“What’s there to debate?” Katara asks, feeling like the balance of her world hangs on his answer. She shoves the whiskey bottle further away from the blanket with her toes. It might be best to stay away from it for a little while.

“I don’t know,” Zuko says again. “Nothing. Everything.”

“Well, I know it’s not my place, but I think you should do it.”

Except that isn’t what she thinks at all.

“You do?” Zuko cuts his eyes to hers. His face is an impassive mask, but something odd flickers in the golden depths of his irises.

_No._

“Yes,” Katara says staunchly. She pushes the bottle further away with her foot and tries to tell herself that the look in his eyes is just a trick of the light. “Zuko, you’re incredible.”

She sees his lips move as he mutters something that is lost behind several loud pops from the fire and the crash of an ill-timed wave.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Forget it.”

Katara frowns and studies the third glass of whiskey she has yet to touch. She isn’t the type to let things go and he knows it. At the same time, she can’t help but feel like she said something wrong.

“Alright!” a perky voice cheers and Katara nearly jumps out of her skin. Ty Lee flips onto the sand next to her. “What are we drinking?”

Toph flops down next to Ty Lee. “Hey, lovebirds!” she hollers. “Come join the party!”

“Big kids only!” Sokka’s voice carries loudly up the beach.

“Bite me! Gramps invited me and I’ll do as I please!”

Ty Lee is examining the bottle of whiskey with a wrinkled nose, seemingly oblivious to the moment that she and Toph have just barged into. Katara wants to hiss at them to _please leave and learn to read a room_ , but she doesn’t. Her heart feels like a fragile piece of glass the way it beats in her chest and she’s worried about what will happen to it if she is left alone to hash this out with Zuko. When she tries to catch his eye, he looks deliberately away from her. She feels small and stupid and very much like she wants to run away.

“What’ve we got here?” Toph demands, grabbing the bottle from Ty Lee’s hand and waving it under her nose. “Whiskey?” She shakes the bottle and listens intently before shooting an accusatory glance in Katara’s direction. “Did you plan on sharing, Sugar Queen?”

“Not with _you_ ,” Katara snipes back. “You’re _nineteen_ , Toph.”

Toph just grins at her, a big show of white teeth. “Legal in the Earth Kingdom.”

“You’re not in the Earth Kingdom,” Zuko says flatly. But neither he nor Katara make a move to pry the bottle out of Toph’s hands.

“Where’s Aang?” Katara asks.

Toph scoffs. “He actually listened to your brother’s _stupid, ageist rule!_ ” She shouts the last part so that Sokka can hear it. Katara thinks she sees Sokka flip the bird at Toph, but it’s hard to tell from this distance. “I think he’s reading a book up at the house like the big, ol’ party pooper that he is.” Toph takes a deep swig out of the whiskey bottle and then belches. “We’re gonna need more of this.”

Katara wrinkles her nose, but takes the out she’s been offered. She needs a moment away from Zuko because she might cry if she doesn’t get one. Standing up and tightening the knot in her deep blue sarong, she says, “I’ll get it.”

“Can you get something other than whiskey, too?” Ty Lee asks, turning her big, gray eyes to Katara. “And maybe some mixers?”

“And snacks!” Toph adds. “I’m gonna need some snacks.”

“You got it,” Katara says, rolling her eyes. She plucks her beach bag from the sand.

“I’ll help you,” Zuko says, standing up as well.

“That’s not necessary.”

Zuko looks at her, eyes narrowed in what she thinks might be confusion. “I know it’s not necessary,” he says. “I’d like to help you, Katara. Is that a problem?”

Katara throws her hands up in exasperation. “Do whatever you want, Zuko!”

Toph lets out a low whistle. “Yikes,” she mutters.

Katara kicks some sand in Toph’s general direction.

“I hope that didn’t get in the whiskey,” Toph deadpans.

Now thoroughly flustered, Katara begins stomping towards Iroh’s beach house. She can hear Zuko tailing her before he gains on her easily thanks to his much longer legs. He hovers behind her as they pick their way through the sand.

“Did I do something to piss you off?” he asks.

“No.”

“Really? Because it definitely seems like you’re pissed off at me.”

Katara sighs and comes to a stop so sudden that Zuko stumbles into her, the defined muscles of his chest hard against her back. His force propels her forward and he catches her about the waist before they can both tumble to the ground. Both of them freeze, their bodies doubled over, his pressed to hers. Katara’s heart beats like a drum throughout her entire body and she panics, wondering if he can feel the thrum of it in his fingers where they rest on her stomach.

“Sorry,” he whispers in her ear and her skin erupts into goosebumps. When he pulls away, his fingertips slide across her belly and Katara swears her goosebumps get goosebumps. Her entire body is tingling like a live wire. When she straightens up, Zuko is staring resolutely at the moon, his arms crossed his chest.

“Zuko?”

He makes a gruff sound of acknowledgement.

“I’m…” Katara doesn’t know what to say. She can’t shake the feeling of being electrocuted. Maybe it’s the whiskey and the way it makes her oddly aware of her body. “I’m not mad at you,” she says. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Zuko’s hands drop to his sides and he pins her with a stare. “Why in the name of Agni would I be mad at you?”

“You got so weird when I told you that you should go out with Azula’s friend!”

“I didn’t get _weird_ ,” he sneers. His arms fold across his chest again.

“Zuko, you got very weird.” Katara mirrors him, crossing her arms under her breasts. “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn or said something you didn’t want to hear. I really value you as a person, Zuko, and I think that you deserve to be happy. So if there’s a time where I can encourage you to pursue that, I’m going to do it.”

“You don’t even know anything about this girl.”

“Neither do you,” Katara counters. “You have to take a chance on happiness at some point, Zuko. Do you _want_ to be the bitter, lonely dude in the bar?”

He is silent for a moment. The sound of the ocean fills the void between them. Then, he says, “I don’t know what I want.”

Something in his voice and the sort of desperate way he looks at her, makes the blood freeze in her veins. And it’s too heavy for her right now, too sudden, too real after her experience with Jet’s deceit. Katara knows that if she succumbs to that look in Zuko’s eyes, they’ll both burn and rise from the ashes like phoenixes. But she isn’t ready for that and he isn’t ready for her in the state she’s in.

So she takes a step into his personal space, places a gentle hand on his upper arm, and steels herself.

“I think we all need to take a page out of the book of Sokka,” she says quietly. “Venture out into the world. Find all of the pieces of ourselves. You don’t have to listen to me. But if this is a step in the right direction, if this helps you find true happiness one day, then maybe you need to pursue it.”

“You really think so?”

Katara shrugs and steps back. “I just think we all deserve to be whole. And I think that we all love one another better _when_ we’re whole. There’s a lot of work for me to do now that Jet has…happened to me. I need to know what makes me happy and you deserve to know what makes you happy.”

“Hey!” Toph’s voice cuts in. They look to see her waving her arms in their general direction. “What are you two lollygagging about for? I said to bring us booze and snacks!”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “She’s a tyrant,” he says fondly.

The walk back to Iroh’s beach house is lighter than Katara expects it to be given the weight of their conversation, but they move past it and into their usual friendship easily enough. The floorboards of the porch creak under their feet and the screen door squeaks on its hinges. When they’re over the threshold, Zuko hooks his thumb towards the stairs.

“Gotta pee,” he says.

“Okay.”

In the kitchen, Katara flicks on the overhead lights and tosses her beach bag to the counter. She stands between the island and the fridge for a moment before the messiness of her heart overwhelms her and she has to step out onto the back porch for some fresh air. With her forearms against the railing, Katara ducks her head low and takes several deep breaths, allowing each of her feelings the opportunity to wash over her individually.

Blinding rage at Jet for sleeping with her roommate and then dumping her in the middle of the quad.

Intense loneliness triggered by the utter happiness of her brother and her best friend.

Fear concerning her upcoming senior year of college and the stack of grad school applications waiting upstairs in her guest room.

A baffling and reeling attraction to Zuko.

Frissons of excitement that call up echoes of the way his fingertips felt as they slid across the sensitive skin of her stomach.

A weird, wrenching pain at having to tell him he should pursue someone else.

“I’m a fucking disaster,” Katara mutters to herself. Tears run hot down the bridge of her nose.

The screen over the back door thumps open.

_Please, La, don’t let it be him._

“Katara?”

Aang.

Katara breathes a sigh of relief and hastily wipes her tears away on the heels of her hands before she looks up and trains her eyes on the palm trees that line the backyard.

“Are you guys done hanging out at the beach?”

“No,” she says. “Zuko and I just came back for provisions.”

“Oh.” Aang’s forearms land next to hers on the railing. Even at nineteen, even with the old, rickety porch, he’s still so light of foot that she didn’t hear him approach.

“You’re welcome to join us, you know. Toph’s down there.”

“That’s okay. I’m not really big on the whole drinking thing.”

“Right,” she says. She knew that. “You don’t have to drink, you know. You can just come relax with us. That’s really what we’re doing.”

“Eh.” She hears the lift of his shoulders as he shrugs. “That’s alright. I’m really enjoying my anthropology textbook.”

“You brought textbooks with you on vacation?”

“Gotta get ahead for next year’s classes!”

There is a pause in which Katara desperately wishes that Aang would just take her silence as a hint and leave her to her thoughts. He doesn’t.

“Is that a new bathing suit?”

Katara looks down at the plain white bikini that she’s worn five summers in a row. “Um... No.”

“Oh. Well, it looks really nice on you. You look...beautiful.”

_Oh, La._

“Thanks,” she says stiffly. She feels like a snotty, weepy troll that should just go live under a bridge and ask people riddles before they cross.

“Are you okay?”

Katara sighs and shakes her head. She keeps her eyes resolutely fixed on the shadow of the palm trees beneath the moon. “No, Aang,” she says.

“Is it because of what happened with Jet?”

“Yes? I don’t know. I’m _really_ confused.”

“Oh.”

And then, suddenly, Aang’s hand is cupping her cheek and she’s staring cross-eyed at the bridge of his nose. His lips are pressed to hers. It takes her a shocked moment to gather her wits and jump back.

“What the hell? _Aang!_ ” Anger bubbles up in her veins. “I just said I was confused! What in that told you that it was okay to...to...!” Katara throws her hands up and says, more to herself than to him, “I can’t deal with this right now!”

She stomps her way back into the kitchen where she paces the length of the room, red spots of anger blurring her vision until she can breathe deeply enough to clear them from her mind. She’s _livid_. What had promised to be a relaxing evening has rapidly devolved into anything but. Her beach bag mocks her from the counter, bright blue and too cheery given the circumstances.

Right. She’s supposed to be getting drinks and snacks.

Katara wrenches open the refrigerator doors and scrounges up several bottles of juice. There is a bottle of vodka in the freezer. She also finds two six packs of beer behind a watermelon and a tub of potato salad. Alcohol and mixers located, Katara switches her focus to snacks. She raids the pantry, slamming the door shut, and is starting work on the cabinets when Zuko walks in.

“What’s with the slamming doors?” he asks. “I thought you weren’t mad at—”

“This isn’t about you!” Katara huffs. She slams some cabinet doors closed and then pins him with her most withering glare. “ _Aang_ just _kissed me_.”

Zuko reels back like she’s slapped him. “What?”

“Yeah.” Katara props her hands on her hips. “It happened. And now I want to drink.”

“I, um...” Zuko is staring at her. “What?”

“ _You heard me._ ”

“Yeah. No, I definitely heard you. I just don’t...”

Katara scowls and starts shoving alcohol, juice, and snacks into her beach bag.

“Did you _ask_ him to—?”

“No!”

“Did... Did you _want_ him to—?”

“No!”

“Then how did—?”

“I don’t know, Zuko!” Katara exclaims. “One minute, I’m _freaking out_ because I can’t manage everything that I’m feeling lately. And the next, I’m outside and Aang is... He’s...” She growls with frustration and jams a bag of chips into the overloaded beach bag. “My life is a fucking joke!”

“That’s not true. And I’m speaking objectively on that.”

Katara snorts derisively.

“I am,” Zuko insists. “Life doesn’t give a shit about timing, Katara. It’s just always going to throw shit at you and _you_ have to decide what you make of it. Jet was an asshole and Aang doesn’t have a clue how to act around you. And I...”

Katara looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He isn’t looking at her, but his face is sad. He runs a hand over his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For whatever role I played in how you’re feeling tonight. And don’t try to say I didn’t. I know that I had a hand in it.”

Katara sighs. “I’m not ready,” she admits. “For _anything_ that happened in the past thirty minutes. Zuko, there were seriously two weeks where I wore the same sweatshirt-sweatpants combo literally every day and didn’t shower. Most days, I still feel like some pathetic, needy, disgusting troll that lives under a bridge. And on days where I _do_ manage to feel a little like myself again, I always end up getting hit with this wave of crippling self-doubt and start to panic that I’m _never_ going to be good enough to deserve what Sokka has with Suki. And the worst part is, that feeling doesn’t just stick with one topic. I have a mountain of grad school applications upstairs that I can’t bring myself to start because I’ve become _terrified_ of _rejection_.”

Zuko blinks at her. “I’m not sure angry drinking is the way to go in this situation.”

“It’s not angry drinking,” Katara tells him. “I want to drink because that’s what we had all planned on doing tonight. We were going to relax on the beach and drink and have fun with one another. I want to have fun with my friends and not…worry.”

He’s silent for a moment. Katara thinks he’s going to tell her to go to bed or that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for her to drink any more tonight. Instead, he takes inventory of what she’s shoved into the beach bag and the alcohol that sits on the counter next to it.

“There are some bottles of wine somewhere around here. Ty Lee would appreciate that.” Zuko starts rooting through the fridge and the cabinets. He locates the wine, some extra glasses, and a bottle of tequila. Katara raises an eyebrow at the tequila and Zuko shrugs. “Shots.”

Fortifications successfully procured, Katara and Zuko traipse back to Eien No Honō beach, laden with enough food and drink for a sizable party rather than six friends. They cross the dark sand to the bonfire. Sokka and Suki have claimed another blanket and Ty Lee sits next to Toph on a piece of driftwood. The four of them let out a chorus of raucous cheers and Katara soon finds her troubles relegated to the deepest reaches of her mind as everyone digs into food and begins passing around drinks.

“Let’s play a game,” Sokka says eventually.

“Is this a six year old’s birthday party?” Toph asks derisively.

“C’mon,” Sokka wheedles. “We can play Paranoia.”

Katara and Zuko both groan. Toph is notoriously a little shit when it comes to playing Paranoia. Her ability to scare everyone involved is infamous, as are the deeply personal and probing questions she likes to ask. She is a master at saying people’s names in a way that makes them need to know the question.

The game commences despite the reluctance of two-sixths of the participants. No question is off-limits and the only rule is _honesty is the best policy_. Toph questions Ty Lee, who questions Sokka, who whispers into Suki’s ear in a way that makes Katara wrinkle her nose. Suki poses a question to Zuko who then bends down to Katara’s ear, his murmur a low rasp that coils deep in her belly.

“Who got a carrot stuck up his nose when he was twelve?”

Katara has to bite back a grin. “Sokka,” she announces to the group.

And Sokka drinks because he always has to know the questions that people ask about him.

The game continues as the fire wanes. Katara feels lazy with the lack of inhibition the alcohol grants her. She is lounging perhaps too close next to Zuko on the beach blanket, their hands propping them up, their shoulders pressed together. In her free hand, she swirls the beer in her bottle, waiting for Suki to finish whispering her latest question in Zuko’s ear. His entire body goes stock still and that’s what catches Katara’s attention. She can feel the way he tenses up against her. Then, his pinky brushes against hers and a shiver ripples up her spine and across her scalp.

“Katara,” he says in response to Suki’s question. His voice is lower and rougher than usual. It makes the girl in question turn her head to him with wide blue eyes. He’s looking at her, a softness to his gaze, the smallest smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Katara wants to know. She _needs_ to know why his body reacted that way to Suki’s question. That long fought desire to press her mouth to his burns in her stomach. She half-raises her bottle to take a drink and then catches a flicker of fear in his eyes. Her gaze darts over Zuko’s shoulder to Suki who is grinning wolfishly, and Katara knows that this is not the time to drink. She’s desperate to know the question, wants Zuko to tell her what Suki asked him, but this isn’t the time and she can _feel_ it.

So she lowers the bottle.

“Ask me a question,” she tells him.

And when Zuko’s lips brush over the shell of Katara’s ear, she relishes the tingle that ricochets through her soul. She dares to link her pinky with his and then his fingers fumble to tangle with hers. Katara almost forgets to listen to the question, her breathing louder than the ocean in her ears.

“Who still has all of their Blue Spirit action figures?”

“Sokka,” Katara says.

And Sokka drinks.

When Katara wakes up the next morning, the sun is rising over the ocean and she’s tucked close to Zuko’s right side. One of his arms is looped around her body, the other props up his head, a makeshift pillow. He’s still asleep, his bare chest rising and falling with the rumble of his snores. They are alone on Eien No Honō beach. There is no trace of the night before save for the fire which has long burned out. One of the others must have taken the trash up to the house.

Katara feels like she’s taken a cleaver to the head and her mouth is as dry as cotton, but it isn’t the worst hangover she’s ever had. When she sits up, she isn’t hit with a wave of nausea and she considers that a victory despite the fact that last night lingers out of the reaches of her memory.

In the coming hours and days, moments from last night will come to her in bits and pieces and she will write off every moment pertaining to Zuko, blaming it all on the whiskey and beer.

* * *

Katara groans and buries her face in her hands, waffle forgotten on the table. Toph reaches out and pats her on the thigh affectionately.

“I told myself it was the alcohol,” she says to the girls. “I just thought I was drunk. I thought _he_ was drunk.”

“I mean…yeah,” Suki says. “You were both _definitely_ drunk.”

“I always thought he was cute,” Katara confesses, staring resolutely at Ty Lee’s plate of half-eaten pancakes. “But, like…he was _Zuko_. He bought me pads when I got my first period. He helped talk me through my breakup with Jet. _I convinced him to pursue Mai_.”

“Yup,” Toph says unhelpfully.

Katara blinks at her friends, helpless and baffled, a hand pressed over her mouth. “I thought it was all in my head. I could admit that he was attractive, but I thought it was in a friendly way. You know, like how Ty Lee can tell people that she considers Sokka attractive without it sounding like a come on?”

“I think the fact that Sokka is permanently attached to Suki’s hip helps with that,” Toph says.

“Hey!” Ty Lee pouts. She turns her limpid gray eyes to Suki. “I’m not interested in him, I swear.”

“I know.” Suki pats Ty Lee’s hand and turns back to Katara.

“I thought he was just being nice,” Katara says weakly.

“Oh, no,” Suki says. “He’s _definitely_ been seriously into you for years. To be fair, though, I don’t think he realized it until _quite_ recently. A little slow on the uptake, that one.”

Toph snickers. “So is Katara.”

“Rude,” Katara grumbles.

“So, who started it?” Suki asks again.

“I did. And I blame you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” Katara says. “You and your stupidly happy, engaged glow. It was contagious.”

Suki grins. “Hey, I’ll happily take credit for this as long as it’s a good thing. It _is_ a good thing, right?”

Katara sighs. “It was _so_ good,” she says, her cheeks flushing.

Ty Lee bursts into laughter. “Mai _never_ sounded like that when she talked about it,” she says conspiratorially. “But then, they never had the amount of chemistry that you and Zuko have.”

“I’m so fucked,” Katara says.

Toph erupts into loud cackles, her entire body shaking with glee.

“Shut up,” Katara tells her, but she doesn’t really mean it because she knows she was thinking the same thing not too long ago.

“So what’s next?” Ty Lee asks. “You seem so happy about it. There’s a lot of pink and green in your aura. Your heart chakra is pretty open.”

Katara shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “We said we would talk this morning, but there was an emergency with his dad. He had to leave before we got the chance.”

“Oh. Well, you’re still going to talk about it, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Katara says. “But with Ozai as a factor, I’m not positive that this is a good time to talk about it.”

“Katara,” Suki says gently, “there may never be a good time to talk about this. You’ve been trying to talk yourself down from this for _years_. If Zuko still wants to discuss what this means, you should go for it. Life doesn’t care about plans or disruptions or anything like that. If you have feelings for Zuko and he has feelings for you, then you need to act on it. Don’t miss out on this because of fear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, Eien No Honō beach is not a real place in the world of ATLA. I named it using Google Translate and it's located somewhere on Ember Island in this story. According to GT, the name means eternal flame. If this is wrong, I sincerely apologize.
> 
> Will we ever get to know what Suki asked Zuko during the drinking game? Probably. Not in this story, though. Somewhere down the line, there will be a follow up to this. If you look closely, I leave holes that can't be closed up in a mere six chapters. So I WILL be returning to this universe in the future. Also, I just love the fact that Zuko is purposely asking questions about Sokka here. What a little stinker. :)
> 
> You are all SO incredible with the feedback and the kudos and the overall niceness. I am so thankful for each and every one of my readers and can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter!


	5. It Seems a Heavy Choice to Make

The hospital hallway has that too-white, too-fluorescent feeling that Zuko associates with the scar around his left eye. He closes his eyes to block it out and rests his forehead against the wall. A gauntlet of Sozin Industries lawyers and board members sit, stoic-faced, in the hospital conference room. They are accompanied by a doctor who wants Zuko to decide what happens to his father’s organs. His uncle and mother wait for him by the door to the conference room. He knows they’re trying to give him time to process what’s happening. Time that is running out. At least for the doctor who needs an answer within the next thirty or so seconds.

There is a lot of information for Zuko to digest.

His father is, by all medical standards, dead.

Somehow, Zuko is the heir presumptive to a multi-billion dollar company.

The doctor wants Zuko to sign a paper that will allow the hospital to harvest Ozai’s organs for donation.

The board and the lawyers are waiting for a decision on whether or not he’ll sell his shares in the company.

_He slept with Katara last night._

And, really, that last point shouldn’t be at the forefront of Zuko’s mind at this very moment, but somehow it is.

“Zuko,” his mother’s voice is quiet. “We don’t mean to rush you, dear, but the doctor needs an answer.” She’s here for moral support more than anything else. Her divorce from Ozai had long severed any legal obligations she would otherwise have in this moment.

Signing the form for organ donation is an easy decision in all actuality. Ozai was an asshole, he took pleasure in ruining lives, and nothing would piss him off more than knowing that he was saving someone in need by finally ceasing to exist.

“I have an answer for the doctor,” Zuko says. “I just don’t have an answer for all of _them_.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the conference room.

“You do not need to have an answer for them right away, Zuko,” Iroh says. “There is still time for that. As long as you maintain your position as the majority shareholder, they cannot force your hand.”

“Right,” Zuko says. He opens his eyes and squares his shoulders. “Let’s do something that would piss Ozai off.” He pats his mother affectionately on the shoulder as he walks past her and into the conference room.

The doctor is hovering nervously between the table and the door, a clipboard full of papers in her wizened hands. She’s old, wrinkles around her lips. The name on her crisp, white coat reads Doctor Yugoda Qel’a. When Zuko holds out his hand for the clipboard, he reads gratitude in her Water Tribe blue eyes (eyes which remind him or Katara so much that he has to remind himself that this is _really not the time_ ). Doctor Qel’a shows Zuko where to sign on all of the forms and then pats him gently on the hand.

“Thank you for helping us save lives,” she says gently. Then she leaves the room, her feet carrying her far faster than Zuko would have assumed her age would allow.

Zuko, flanked by his mother and uncle, is left to face the lawyers and board members of Sozin Industries. He presses his hands to the back of a chair and leans forward. Not a single one of them lets their stony, silent face fall, not even Zhao, his father’s power-hungry vice president.

“I’ll have an answer for you within a week,” Zuko tells them.

“We’d prefer an answer today,” Zhao says coldly. “We have a press release to draft.”

“Your press release can wait a few days,” Zuko retorts. “My father just died.”

Zhao sneers. Zuko and Ozai’s strained relationship was known even before the scar, the reveal of Ozai’s many white-collar crimes, and the life sentence. Zuko knows that Zhao has been serving as interim president of the company since Ozai was first arrested. At the time, Zuko had been thirteen and too young by anyone’s standards to take control of Sozin Industries. He hadn’t been too keen on taking over when he turned eighteen either. Now that Ozai is dead, however, the company is legally Zuko’s. He knows it and he knows _Zhao_ knows it.

“Please,” Zuko says, gesturing towards the door. “Allow us our time to grieve.”

In a flurry of packed up papers and the click of dress shoes and stilettos, the board members and lawyers file out of the conference room. Zhao makes sure to shoulder-check Zuko on the way out.

“I would encourage you to consider your decision quite carefully,” he growls before slamming the door shut.

Zuko slumps into the chair at the head of the table. His mother and uncle sit opposite one another on either side of him. For a moment, the room is silent. Then, Ursa’s face breaks out into a smile that is lovelier than any Zuko has seen from her in _years_. He can feel a grin spread across his own lips in response. Nobody has to say it, but all three know—though Zuko and Ursa have been legally free of Ozai for nearly a decade and a half, _this_ is true freedom.

When his mother’s eyes well over, Zuko is flooded with relief that his mother never again has to live in fear of his father.

“Please don’t think poorly of me for smiling, Iroh,” she says between sniffles. She takes a tissue from the box in the center of the table.

“I would never.”

“Someone needs to tell Azula,” Zuko says. “Does she have any idea?”

Iroh and Ursa exchange a glance.

“Your mother and I will make a trip out to see Azula later today,” Iroh says. “You know how...mercurial she can be.”

That’s certainly _one_ way to put it.

“What do I do about the company?” Zuko asks. “I’m not fond of either option. If I assume control, I’ll have to deal with corruption at all levels. Sozin Industries has destroyed lives for decades and has built a monopoly based on manipulation and fear mongering. If I maintain my stake and position, there’s no way any of them will listen to me. But if I sell my shares, I leave the company in Zhao’s hands. And I think he might be just as bad as Ozai.”

“Zuko,” Ursa says. She’s still dabbing relieved tears away from her eyes. “Your uncle and I would never dream of telling you how to handle this situation. We know it’s unenviable. There is no right choice.”

Zuko groans and buries his face in his arms like a petulant teenager. “How did Ozai not manage to get me removed from the line of succession? Surely he had a lawyer for that!”

“You know, Nephew,” Iroh says, “I was once in line to be president of Sozin Industries. Legal precedent states that ownership and control of the company passes to the firstborn child. The eldest may hand off power to a younger sibling only if he has no children. Or he may sell his shares, which is an option no one has ever taken. There are no loopholes.”

“That’s nepotism,” Zuko says, picking his head up.

“Yes, it is. When your grandfather was ready to pass the company on to me, I didn’t want it. I was far happier with the Jasmine Dragon, so I immediately handed off power. The company would have gone to Lu Ten had he still been alive. Given that I had no living child, that meant Ozai would become president of Sozin Industries. At the time, I still held out hope for my brother.”

“I definitely don’t want Azula in charge of the company,” Zuko blurts out, panicked and imagining nothing but carnage.

Iroh nods in understanding. “At the time,” he says, “I did not see any other way forward. And that is what Zhao hopes will happen with you. He thinks that if he can bully you into selling your shares in the company, then he will finagle a majority stake and be able to name himself president.”

Zuko studies his uncle’s bearded face. There is a twinkle in the older man’s amber eyes.

“You see another way forward!”

“I do,” Iroh says, inclining his head. “But as your mother said, I will not tell you which path you should take.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Take control of Sozin Industries.” He holds up a hand when Zuko goes to protest. “ _Patience,_ Nephew. Listen: With your majority share in the company and your status as president, you control the future of the business. A long time ago, I knew some people who were interested in purchasing our family company and I have reason to believe that those people may still be interested.”

“Sell the company?”

Iroh nods.

“But... Who has enough money to purchase a multi-billion dollar business?”

“I believe you remember my old pai sho friends Piandao and Pakku.”

Zuko stares, unblinking, at his uncle for several long moments. “You think I should sell Sozin Industries to the White Lotus Corporation?”

“It is simply another way forward, Nephew. You will choose the path you deem best.”

“Can the White Lotus even do that?” Zuko asks. “Don’t they operate in a completely different sphere of business?”

“A company as large as the White Lotus has many fingers in many different pies. Were you to sell to them, they could clean house without raising suspicion. They could also steer the company into less troublesome waters.”

“Either way,” Ursa breaks in, “you will be well taken care of in terms of money.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Zuko says. “I’d rather give it all to you and Uncle.”

“You don’t need to worry about either of us, dear. If you don’t want the money, I’m sure you could find something productive to do with it. Charity? Or perhaps a business of your own?”

Zuko thinks back on past conversations with Sokka. His friend is something of a genius when it comes to inventing things, but never has the money for patents or copyrights. Perhaps Mother is on to something.

“Won’t it look bad if I sell to the White Lotus?” Zuko asks. “Pakku is related to my friends.”

“If it is the path you would like to take, I am certain that something can be done to spin it,” Iroh says mildly with a wave of a hand. “Perhaps I could talk to the Beifongs. They’re running a splendid PR operation these days!”

“I’m friends with _their_ daughter, too.”

“Regardless,” Iroh says. “It can all be sorted out should that be the choice you make.”

“Take your time with your decision,” Ursa counsels. “You gave Zhao a week. Don’t be afraid to take longer if you need.”

“Right,” Zuko sighs. “What... What happens next?”

Ursa smiles again, big and beautiful and brilliant. “That’s the wonderful part, Zuko. We all finally get to move forward unencumbered.”

Her words call forth a reminder of the previous night, the happily sated feeling of waking up next to Katara, the noise of stunned surprise she’d made when he kissed her this morning. Ozai had always told Zuko that he was lucky to be born. For the first time in his life, with the memory of Katara’s words of affection before that fateful first kiss still fresh in his mind, Zuko considers himself just plain lucky.

A hospital administrator eventually comes along to move them out of the conference room. He is all apologies and sympathy and offers to take them to a private room to grieve. If he is startled when his offer is rejected, he doesn’t show it. Perhaps he knew that Ozai had come in from the Boiling Rock and had been handcuffed to his hospital bed despite his condition.

“Should I come with you to tell Azula?” Zuko asks when they’re standing in the parking lot, squinting their eyes against the summer sun.

“That’s not the best idea, dear,” Ursa says. “She’s still a little upset.”

Zuko splutters indignantly. “That’s ridiculous!” he nearly shouts. “She can’t possibly still be mad about me and Mai! _Mai_ ended things with _me!_ A _year_ ago! And by Ty Lee’s account, Mai has moved on. And so have I for that matter!”

“You have?” The question comes in tandem from his mother and his uncle.

 _Shit_.

He can almost hear Azula mocking his big mouth.

“I...uh... Yes,” Zuko stammers. “Kind of. I mean... It’s under discussion.”

“Under discussion?” Ursa says, amusement dripping like honey from her voice. “Oh, you young people are just _so_ romantic these days.”

“It’s a complicated situation,” Zuko says defensively.

“Right,” Ursa says, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. She plucks something from the front of his shirt as well. When she holds it up to the light, Zuko sees that it’s a solitary long, curly strand of brown hair. “Tell Katara I’m delighted.”

Zuko feels his face turn crimson. “I didn’t say it was... How did you...? It’s not Katara!”

Ursa rolls her eyes. “Zuko, _please_.” She picks up his hand. His knuckles are still somehow stained with Katara’s purply lipstick despite repeated washings. It must be some sort of witchcraft that has kept it on his skin. “I bought Katara this exact shade of lipstick for her birthday.” She drops his hand and pats his cheek before walking away.

“Mothers always know that which we think we’ve held closest to our hearts,” Iroh says. He gives Zuko a conspiratorial wink before sauntering after his sister-in-law.

* * *

The text message rolls in around four o’clock along with the monsoon clouds. Katara and Suki are leafing through bridal magazines and scouring the internet for wedding checklists. The apartment is, once again, Sokka-free and safe from any unsavory tableaux in the kitchen. Or the living room. Or the hallway. Or literally any other place in the apartment that Katara has accidentally stumbled upon her best friend groping her brother.

 _Dinner at my place?_ Zuko’s text reads. _I’ll cook_.

Katara hides a grin behind her hand. A bubble of happiness bursts in her sternum and threatens to turn into a series of giddy giggles. It’s best to rein in the excitement, she knows. Zuko has just dealt with a family emergency concerning Ozai and that’s a double whammy of trauma if she’s ever heard of one. The discussion of what happened between them last night could easily turn into nothing.

“Dinner with Zuko tonight,” she tells Suki as casually as possible, firing off a response.

“What are you going to wear?”

Katara shrugs. “This.” She sweeps a hand across her t-shirt and jeans.

“Really?”

“Suki, it’s _Zuko_. He once saw someone vomit on me at a party in college. If I show up dressed like I’m interested in him, he’s going to freak out.”

Suki gives her a wide smile. “Yeah. That’s definitely true.” She playfully nudges Katara in the ribs with her elbow. “But I’m pretty sure you’d freak out, too.”

“And it would be justifiable,” Katara says. “This feels like a big deal.”

“The only reason it feels that way,” Suki says, closing her magazine, “is because you’ve built it up to be this big _thing_ in your head. You’ve both been so terrified of crossing that line and have spent so many years living in denial that you’ve built it up to be something insurmountable. But it isn’t.”

“I wouldn’t say I was living in denial,” Katara says. “It was more of a matter of not being ready. Maybe we _could_ have started all of this three years ago. But Jet had just happened and I was bouncing back and forth on a spectrum of emotions at a moment’s notice. I didn’t feel capable of being what Zuko needed at the time.”

Suki shrugs. “Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t,” she says. “But now you’ve both made a huge step forward. That’s a pretty big sign that the timing is right. And that’s not a sign from the universe. It’s a sign that the two of you have brought forth together.”

“Maybe.”

“Look,” Suki says, turning to face Katara. Her gray eyes are bright. “When I first met your brother—I’m not going to lie—the sexual tension was _real_. I thought he was a major hottie. But I also couldn’t stand what an asshole he was. He went from being Major Hottie to Major Misogynist so fast it wasn’t even funny. It took us some time to build a foundation for what we have now. We had to learn a lot about ourselves as individuals. So I get where you’re coming from. Really. Believe me when I say that, while this may be the most terrifying thing you’ve ever done, it’s so, _so_ worth it.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” Katara asks quietly.

“Oh,” Suki says. “That is not even an _option_. Toph has _really_ good money riding on this thing with you and Zuko being end game, and she might lose her shit if you two give up on it.”

Katara stares at her best friend, mouth ajar. “You and Ty Lee bet that this would _fail?_ ”

“We would never!”

“Oh.”

“Sokka’s the one who bet against it.”

“ _What?_ Sokka _knows?_ ”

“He’s not as stupid as everyone thinks he is,” Suki says. “He’s perceptive as hell. That money I won from the girls? I have to give three quarters of it to him because he bet me that you and Zuko would hook up after the engagement bash.”

“Oh, for the love of La.”

Suki chuckles and returns to perusing her magazine, dog-earing a couple of pages with dresses she finds interesting before she asks, “So, do you think you’ll be coming home after dinner? And if so, what time? I need to know where and when I should plan on getting some tonight.”

“Gross!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but I'll be back next week for the final installment.
> 
> As always, thank you for your thoughtfulness. Your kindness absolutely lights up my days and I enjoy hearing from all of you! :)


	6. Come a Little Closer

Zuko quickly finds himself in over his head when he steps through the door of his apartment. The gravity of having Katara come over to discuss the events of last night slams home with the close of the door. Toeing off his wet sneakers and hanging his jacket in the hall closet, he tries and fails to make a mental checklist of everything that he needs to do. Mostly because he doesn’t _know_ what he needs to do.

He wanders around his apartment, attempting to decide if he should clean or if doing so would be weird. Katara has been to his place probably hundreds of times since he moved in after college. In middle school and high school, she used to come hang out at his uncle’s house with Sokka. She’s far from unfamiliar with the way Zuko lives. And, having roomed with Sokka during their first year of college, Zuko knows that he’s nothing like the disgusting mess that is her brother. That had been a rough enough experience that he’d acquired himself a single room for every subsequent year.

So cleaning the apartment is an idea that quickly gets shoved aside. If it looks like he’s trying too hard, it might change the dynamics too much and turn tonight into something far more awkward than it already is.

When he peeps into the bedroom and sees that Katara made the bed before leaving, Zuko dithers about for a moment, wondering if he should change the sheets or if doing so would be presumptuous.

He changes the sheets regardless and takes out the kitchen trash because it’s overflowing with takeout boxes from last night’s dumpling binge. He also slides open the patio door, allowing the sound and scent of today’s storm to fill the apartment, a cool breeze filtering through the screen and ruffling the curtains. It’s a peaceful scene that Zuko augments with the selection of an acoustic-y indie playlist that he knows Katara will appreciate.

It takes Zuko longer than it should to settle on what to cook. Or perhaps it doesn’t take him long enough he decides when he’s halfway through prepping a main course that is heavy on Fire Nation flavors and ingredients. When Mai had had a key, Zuko had often prepared dinner for the two of them. It’s been over a year since Mai ended things, though, and Zuko realizes that he hasn’t cooked dinner for a girl since then. His chosen dish, which was once so reliable, might not be the best for the woman he’s cooking for tonight.

“Fuck.”

With the komodo chicken browning on the stove, nestled in a pan amongst peppers and chilies, Zuko delves into his pantry for something— _anything_ —even remotely Water Tribe in nature. He surfaces with a sack of tundra tubers and a bulb of garlic. A side of garlic mashed tundra tubers is better than blatantly omitting Katara’s roots completely, but he’s going to have to do better next time.

He sets the tubers boiling and flips the chicken to brown on the opposite side. Then, he scrounges up a mismatched, unused pair of wine glasses and the only bottle of wine he’s ever owned. It was a gift from Uncle Iroh years ago. The age gives Zuko pause. He grabs his phone and dials.

“Nephew.”

“Hi, Uncle. I have a question.”

“I may have an answer.”

“Remember that wine you gave me? Is it still good?”

There is a chuckle. “Perhaps. Have you opened it?”

“Not yet,” Zuko says, checking the chicken. He turns off the burner and tosses the pan and its contents into the oven.

“You’ll need to do that.”

“I don’t even know if I have a corkscrew.”

“Of course you do, Nephew. Do you think I would gift a young man such as yourself with a bottle of wine and neglect to include the necessary tool with which to open it?”

Zuko grins and begins rifling through drawers. “No, Uncle. That doesn’t sound like you at all.” He locates the corkscrew in a drawer of rarely used kitchen implements and sets about uncorking the bottle.

“What now?”

“How does it smell?” Iroh asks.

Zuko sniffs at the moth of the bottle. “Um.. It smells like alcohol?” he supplies unhelpfully.

“Not like vinegar?”

“No.”

“It should be just fine, then,” Iroh says. “If you try a little, you will get a better idea.”

Zuko pours a dash of wine into one of the glasses and takes a sip. “It _tastes_ like wine,” he tells his uncle.

“Then you must be in the clear.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“Of course,” Iroh says. Then, with too much innocence in his voice, “Are you entertaining a young lady tonight?”

Zuko feels his face flush. “ _Goodbye_ , Uncle!” He hangs up on his uncle’s raucous laughter and tests a tuber with a fork. Not even close.

* * *

Nerves start to sink in when Katara steps into the elevator and presses the button for Zuko’s floor. She clutches her purse tightly in both hands, taps her toe on the floor, and wonders, not for the first time, if she should have tucked a spare shirt and pair of underwear into the bag before she left. She’d considered it, but couldn’t help but feel that doing so would tempt fate to conspire against her.

Despite Suki’s enthusiastic urging, Katara hadn’t changed her outfit either. Suki had even offered up the use of a strappy little black dress that she knew her friend coveted, but Katara hadn’t been able to accept. The dress felt dangerous and deliberate and too overtly sexual.

“Are you sure?” Suki had asked. “This is _definitely_ a lucky dress.”

“Suki, I _really_ don’t want to borrow your sex dress,” Katara had replied. “Especially since I know who you’re having sex with.”

Suki had shrugged and hung the dress in Katara’s closet anyway. “Just in case,” she’d said with a wink.

Katara hadn’t borrowed the dress, choosing instead to stick with the same jeans and t-shirt she’d worn to brunch. The only concession she’d made to the enormity of the evening was a splash of her favorite perfume, a lighthearted concoction of aquatic and floral notes that make her feel at one with the storm outside.

The elevator deposits Katara on Zuko’s floor. She stands just outside of the doors as they sweep shut, trying to still the trembling in her body. It’s silly, she thinks, that she should be so nervous about having dinner with someone she’s known for nearly fifteen years. She should be able to shake the feeling, but the knowledge that this may not be something they can recover from if it doesn’t work is persistent and refuses to be ignored. Her footsteps feel louder than usual as she walks down the carpeted hallway, seeming to fall with the hammering of her heart.

When Katara knocks on the door, it’s answered with a loud, metallic clatter and muffled cursing. She cocks her head and raises a bemused eyebrow. The door opens a few moments later and her heart squeezes. Zuko stands there, tall and broad-shouldered, the sleeves of his black tee taut across the muscles in his arms. It’s so spirits-damned unfair of him. When he smiles at her, she hopes the one that she casts him in return doesn’t look as breathless as she feels.

“Hi,” he says. His teeth are so white, the canines so sharp. Katara can’t help but recall the bite of them across her skin.

Something dark and greedy in the back of her mind hisses, _More_.

“Hi,” she says. Then, when he simply stands there looking at her, “Can I come in?”

“Huh? Oh!” Zuko’s cheeks flush and he shuffles out of the way. It takes so little for him to turn back into the awkward turtleduck that she knows and adores. “Yeah. I… Sorry.”

Katara toes off her shoes and tucks her jacket into the hall closet. When she turns around, Zuko is still hovering near her as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There is the temptation to slide one hand up his chest, loop the other around the back of his neck, and press her lips to his, but their texts to arrange the evening had been void of any details pertaining to his day and Katara doesn’t know what to do either, given the circumstances. So she says loudly, “Dinner smells great!”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “I, uh… I made food.” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder to the kitchen.

Katara’s mouth twitches and her nostrils flare. “I _hope_ so,” she says, fending off a laugh. She ventures into the kitchen, intent on inspecting the food, but is summarily distracted by what catches her eye across the breakfast bar.

Zuko has pulled his table and chairs over by the patio door, which is open to the sound and scent of the rain. There’s a bottle of wine and two mismatched wine glasses sitting on the table. Bracketed by the white curtains that flank the patio door, the setup is a gesture that is so clumsily Zuko. When she recognizes the song playing faintly in the background as one of her favorites by one of her favorite bands, all temptations to tease Zuko for his bumbling vanish under an overwhelming wave of affection. Katara turns to look at him and is struck by how easy it would be for her to tumble over the edge of that affection and into love. So easy that she can’t help but wonder if she’s already in the free fall, having toppled off the edge years ago.

If Zuko notices her watching him, he doesn’t let on, plating up chicken and peppers on clean white plates.

“What are we eating?” Katara asks.

“Pan seared komodo chicken with peppers and chilies,” he says somewhat apologetically. “I’m sorry. I found some tundra tubers and I made a mash, but I understand if—”

Katara reaches up to touch his cheek and dares to press a kiss to the other, her lips brushing against his scar. “I think it all sounds delicious,” she says when she pulls away.

He reaches up to grasp her wrist, his thumb stroking across the bones there. His eyes have darkened to amber and seem to study her face. She thinks she reads some sort of tension there.

“I’m really happy you’re here.” His voice is quiet, gentle. It sends a shiver through her body.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she says, startled by the truth of her words.

Zuko’s eyes flash and he presses a soft kiss to her palm before releasing her hand and returning to the food. Katara ambles over to the table and sets about pouring the wine. She has to grip the bottle and glasses tightly due to the trembling of her fingers. She wants to put dinner aside for the time being and pull him into the bedroom, let him press her into the mattress and set her soul on fire. Giving in once after years of denial has set forth a flood of insatiability, but letting herself get caught up in the undertow seems daunting and there is a conversation to be had.

When they are seated across from each other at the table, the sound of rain pattering on the porch and an acoustic guitar-heavy song drifting across the room, Katara can’t help the series of nervous giggles that escape her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m _really_ nervous. And I don’t know why because you literally saw me naked like fifteen hours ago. But it’s _you_ and I _am_ and…” She runs out of words and trails off, staring at her hands where they sit in her lap.

Zuko shifts in his seat. “Do you regret last night?” he asks quietly.

“No!” Katara’s heart gives a horrible flip in her chest. “Do…you?”

“Definitely not.”

She looks up and he’s giving her a half-smile that sends a bolt of relief coursing through her system.

“I just don’t know where to begin.”

“Me either.”

“I mean,” he amends, looking a bit sheepish. “I know where I’d _like_ to begin, but there’s this whole other…”

“Elephant in the room?” Katara supplies and he nods. She wants to ask, but it feels impertinent and trivial given that Zuko is well aware of the situation with his father and the way it hangs over the evening. Instead, she takes a bite of komodo chicken. It’s surprisingly good. Juicy and tender, maybe a little too spicy for her liking, but she’ll soldier through for him.

“I kind of figured you could cook,” she says, “but I didn’t know you were good at it.”

Zuko shrugs. “I do okay,” he says. “I figured that I might as well learn how to cook well if I have to do it every day.”

“If only more people shared that sentiment.”

“Like who?”

“Sokka,” Katara says with a devious grin that makes Zuko laugh. “He and Suki are going to spend way too much money on restaurants and take out.”

“Suki doesn’t cook either?”

“She tries, but she’s horrible at it,” Katara says. “The two of them pretty much subsist on whatever leftovers I leave for them in the fridge. I have no idea how they managed while I was writing my thesis.”

“What’s next now that you’re done with grad school?” Zuko asks.

“I’ve applied for some jobs, had a couple of interviews, but nothing has panned out yet,” Katara tells him. “Nothing has really sparked my interest.”

“You don’t want to get your doctorate?”

“Maybe one day. Right now, I’d kind of like to work with people. Or kids. I want to do something that makes a difference. I just haven’t found a company that I truly want to work for.”

Zuko nods and moves around the food on his plate with his fork. “If I started a business or a charity,” he says slowly, “would you be interested in that?”

Katara blinks at him and tilts her head. “You want to start a business?”

“I think so. I have some ideas, but nothing concrete quite yet.”

“Starting a business costs a lot of money,” Katara says. “You’ll need investors.”

“Not really,” Zuko says. Then, “Ozai’s dead.”

Katara is vaguely aware of the way her mouth drops open and her fork falls to her plate. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t _that_.

“Spirits,” she says.

Zuko nods. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Does it matter?”

Maybe it doesn’t. Katara isn’t sure. Ozai isn’t her father.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “It’s more of a relief than anything. Mom was always worried that he’d try to appeal the decision or find some other way to get out. She spent so many years afraid that he’d get back at her for filing for divorce. Knowing that he was still in the periphery of our lives was terrible. It was always at the back of my mind. It feels good to know that I don’t have to worry about him for the rest of my life.”

Katara murmurs in agreement.

“I guess the other thing that came out of him dying is that I now own Sozin Industries. Or…most of it.”

“You own Sozin Industries,” Katara deadpans.

“For now.”

“For _now?_ ”

“I think I’m going to sell it.”

“Can you _do_ that?” Katara asks.

Zuko shrugs. “According to Uncle Iroh. Seventy-five percent of the shares are mine. I’m technically the president of the company, too. I pretty much have the power to do whatever I want.”

“Seventy-five percent?” Katara knows that Sozin Industries is a multi-billion dollar company. Doing the mental math, she absentmindedly stabs at a piece of komodo chicken and misses when she realizes exactly how many zeros are involved if Zuko sells his share of the company. The tines of her fork hit the plate, scraping and squeaking along the porcelain. “La, Zuko. You’re…you’re _rich_.”

He scrubs at the back of his neck with his hand. “If I want the money, I am,” he says. “But I don’t want the money. I want to do something good with it. My father and his father never did.”

Katara slumps back into her chair, thoroughly floored. “Wow.” It’s all she can say.

“Yeah.”

“This is a lot of information.”

“I know,” Zuko says. “Should I have not told you? I felt like I should.”

Katara shakes her head. “No, it’s… I’m glad you trust me with this. I just don’t know what to do with it.”

“Try being me,” he jokes and, surprisingly enough, it actually breaks the heaviness of the moment.

“Zuko,” Katara reiterates, “you’re _rich_. You could buy a sports team and a ridiculously nice car and run around Caldera City playing Blue Spirit if you wanted to.”

“I’ve already got the car.”

“I always knew Iroh would support something like vigilantism.”

“And I think I might actually own the Caldera City Phoenixes. I’ll have to really read the fine print.”

“Well, shit,” Katara says with a grin. “You can’t _not_ be a vigilante now that you have the complete starter kit.”

They dissolve into laughter befitting children on a playground. The levity carries through the rest of the meal and the time it takes to wash the dishes. Meanwhile, the storm rolls on, drenching the world outside.

The evening leads Katara and Zuko to the couch where they sit shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, nerves palpable in the air. The bottle of wine, now empty, sits on the coffee table. Katara is swirling the last of her drink around in her glass. Zuko’s sits, half full, next to the bottle.

“I feel like a middle schooler right now,” Katara confesses quietly. When she looks at Zuko, he grins, a show of perfect teeth, and she thinks again of the marks that litter her skin.

_Except nothing like a middle schooler at all._

She angles herself towards him, tucking a foot under the opposite thigh. “I’ve never had this conversation before,” she says.

“That can’t possibly be true,” Zuko says. “You’ve been in relationships.”

The word makes her heart skip a beat and Katara feels her cheeks heat. “That’s not what I meant,” she says. “This is different.”

“We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Yes.”

Zuko runs a hand down his face and Katara stares into her glass of wine.

“I’m not…” Zuko stops and shakes his head. Katara can feel her heart sink rapidly until it lands somewhere near her feet.

_Here comes rejection._

She tries to brace herself for it, gathering her heart back into her chest and guarding it with wary eyes.

“I don’t know how to be casual, Katara.”

Oh. That wasn’t what she was expecting _at all_.

“You know me. I’ve dated a grand total of three women and I’m a serious serial monogamist.” He’s talking to his feet. She wishes he would just look at her. Maybe he’s just as daunted by the gravity of the situation as she is, though. “What happened last night… I don’t… I’ve never…done that.”

“That makes two of us.” Katara takes a deep breath and then takes the plunge, a hand fisted in the hem of her shirt. “I don’t want that to be the end of this.”

Now he _is_ looking at her, his eyes bright and trained on hers.

“Everything that I told you last night? I didn’t make that up. I’ve always thought… And I’ve been telling myself for years that it wasn’t okay for me to be into you. I thought it would be too complicated. But that…was the most uncomplicated sex I’ve ever had.”

“It was the _best_ sex I’ve ever had,” Zuko says bluntly. His eyes widen as if he didn’t mean to say it, but Katara grins.

“It was that, too.” She places her glass on the table and unwinds her hand from her shirt. “I think that this could be really easy. I’ve been making it complicated for myself for years. I thought that it had to be because it was you and it was us and we have all this history. But I think that maybe I was wrong.”

“I don’t do things by halves, Katara.”

“I know.”

“That night at Eien No Honō beach when you said that we should all learn from Sokka… You were right. If we’re considering this, we both need to be certain that we’re ready for it.”

Katara starts. “I’m certain,” she says, wide-eyed. “Are you _not_ certain?”

“No,” he says. “I am.”

Katara lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. When he smiles at her, she can’t suppress the grin that blossoms on her lips in return.

“What happened last night and today made me absolutely positive that I want to pursue a relationship with you,” Zuko continues. “But I also really want to do this right. I want to be the kind of person that deserves you. I want to be the kind of person you want and need. No stupid mistakes or missteps.”

“Zuko,” Katara says gently. She reaches for his hand and links their fingers. “What I said that night on the beach… I wasn’t worried that you weren’t enough for me. I was in a really bad place at that moment in time. I felt like I needed to find my way back to myself. Pursuing this at that time—a time when neither of us knew what we wanted—it would have been a mess.”

“You said I should… Mai…”

Katara nods. “I wanted you to be happy. I knew I couldn’t make that happen. Also, I was _deep_ in denial. I hardly ever let myself acknowledge the fact that I thought you were hot.”

Zuko’s cheeks flush. “You think I’m hot?” he teases.

“ _Duh_ ,” Katara says with a roll of her eyes, refusing to take the bait.

“I don’t do things by halves,” he repeats. She can hear the guarded tone in his voice and it dawns on her that he might be a little scared, so she squeezes his hand.

“I’m not interested in short term or something that lacks commitment,” Katara says. “If you want to do this, I’m in it with every single part of myself.”

Zuko’s hand leaves hers and brushes down the length of her neck, sending a series of sparks skittering over her skin. His fingertips play along the edge of her mother’s necklace, skimming the carving on the stone.

“I feel…strongly for you,” he says, golden eyes finding hers shyly through the fringe of his dark hair.

She thinks that his words coupled with the placement of his fingers should be too much symbolism or perhaps too much too fast. Maybe if she was anyone else, it would be. Maybe if _he_ was anyone else, it would be.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she challenges, quirking an eyebrow.

“I hope not. I just want to be honest.”

And it’s this very fact that makes this the least terrifying thing Katara has ever faced. She values honesty, he knows she does. Beneath all of his ferocity and drive is an underlying current of awkward eagerness.

“I don’t scare easily,” Katara says.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because I feel like I’m going to mess up a lot.”

Katara shakes her head and smiles. “I think you’re better at this than you think you are. I don’t want someone who’s perfect, Zuko. I like you just the way you are.”

“That’s good,” he says again. His hand his still on her neck, the pad of his thumb grazing her jaw now.

“Good,” she says, gripping the collar of his shirt.

Then, she pulls him close and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all of your positivity and support! This little AU has been so near and dear to my heart and I'm delighted to know that it's so well-received by all of you. I do see this as part of a larger collection of works and I will be working on the next installment soon, so keep an eye out. (If you want to, that is.) I also have another Zutara story that I am hoping to post sometime tomorrow and there are several others in the pipeline.
> 
> I am astonished and truly humbled by your kindness and delight in this story. As I said before, it's been a few years since I ventured into this realm. All of you have reminded me why I love this ship and this fandom so much. I hope that you all stick with me for future projects and can't wait to hear from you again!


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